


Still Breathing

by casbelieves



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Dark, Depression, Drug Use, First Love, Flashbacks, Foster Care, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:22:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 94,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbelieves/pseuds/casbelieves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is going to break. He’s going to snap and crash and burn, and Dean is going to watch. He’s going to watch this beautiful boy with a heart of gold crumble to a heap of burning ash and rotting matter. He is going to cry and weep for a boy he thought he knew, but could never truly help, and that is going to kill him inside.</p><p>The shittiest thing you can ever do to yourself is fall in love with someone who is already broken beyond repair. No matter how hard you hope your love will save them, it won’t, and Dean knows that. Nuzzling his nose into Cas’ dark locks of hair, he breathes in and tells himself that he doesn’t care; that it’s worth it; that Cas is different. He’s wrong, and he knows that, too.<br/> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters. All rights reserved to the creators of Supernatural.
> 
> I have chosen not to use archive warnings. Please note that this fic does contain trigger material. (Rape, abuse, suicide, self-harm, ect.)

Castiel has never wanted anything more than a roof over his head and a meal three times a day, which is apparently pretty hard to find. You’d think the system would at least make sure the families he's placed with can feed him, but foster care really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be to say the least. Once again, for the umpteenth time, Castiel finds himself being moved into another home that will probably either be too big or too small, with another family that will most likely hate him, and this time, it's in a little coastal town just a few minutes from San Francisco.

The neighborhood looks nice, but he isn't told anything that could actually be beneficial in estimating how things are going to be this time around. He could care less about what the houses look like; what he really wants to know is what happens to the little lost girls and boys when they get behind closed doors.

His social worker, Naomi, drives him down a manicured street that's lined with beautiful Colonial and Victorian-styled homes. The neighborhood is probably one of the nicest he’s ever been in, let alone lived in, and he imagines the type of life he might have here. The family probably goes on a vacation to Mexico every summer. Maybe the kids wear matching shirts to keep track of one another in crowded places. In all honesty, he doubts that this time will be any difference than the last. He hasn’t even been with a foster parent for a while. For the last five months he’s been in a hospital. Well, more specifically, the mental ward located inside a hospital, but that’s not important, really. Everyone goes a little crazy from time to time, and he obviously isn’t an exception. It's not like he was locked up in a padded room or anything like that, either. It's just that he had to deal with some things first.

Naomi pulls over and parks in front of a generously-sized Victorian. The houses surrounding it are much smaller as it towers over the two homes on either side of its corner lot.

“Behave.” Naomi hisses in his ear. She straightens her blazer with flat palms, glaring angrily at him. “We don’t want a repeat of the past.”

“No promises.” He groans, sliding out of the car and slamming the door behind him. He enjoys the exasperated sigh Naomi makes as she walks away.

Lazily following a few feet behind her, Castiel gazes up at Victorian as he falls beneath its massive shadow. He feels the energy from the cheery house pulling him towards it, like some kind of positive force sucking in his negative energy. They reach the door and instantly Naomi's perfectly manicured fingers are smoothing out Castiel's shirt and adjusting his hair while he stands passively still. She checks her watch twice before ringing the bell. A couple answers the door; they don’t exactly match the picture he had in his head.

“Hello. I’m Ellen and this is my husband Bobby. You must be Castiel.” The woman smiles warmly. The man, Bobby, grunts and waves them in.

The couple wears nearly-matching flannel shirts and worn blue jeans; the only difference between their outfits is Bobby’s slightly-stained trucker’s hat that advertises an auto shop. They seem nice enough, but that’s how it always starts off. First they're nice, making you believe they care, but the ugly truth almost always comes out. He’s had one or two truly exceptional foster parents; as for the rest, they can go straight to Hell.

Castiel takes a few steps into the foyer. Ellen gives him a small, encouraging smile. When he doesn’t smile back, she exchanges a glance with Bobby and leads them into the living room. They sit on a sturdy couch.

“He’s a runner; I just thought you should know that.” Naomi pats his knee and he shifts away in disgust, as if her touch held some unknown contagion. “But Castiel always does excellent in his studies and he never fails to follow orders.”

He tunes her out, tired of hearing the speech about his nervous habits and medications, and takes in his new surroundings. From the outside, he'd gotten the impression that the place would be furnished with old wallpaper and fainting couches, the occasional kerosene lamp sitting idly on a coffee table. Surprisingly, it feels much more laid-back. All the furniture is practical and the walls are lined with photos of children. A few kids walk down the hall. One or two pop their heads in to see what's going on, but they don’t stick around.

A girl walks in and takes a seat beside him – far too close for his comfort, he might add. She smiles and leans back, looking him over. He wonders if she is another foster kid, or if she is adopted. She’s pretty, with green eyes and pink lips, and a sort of all-knowing twinkle in her eye.

He looks over at his social worker, wishing she’d disappear. She keeps looking at him like he’s going to steal something. For Christ’s sake, he’s going to live here, why the hell would he steal anything?

As if Naomi could read his thoughts, she stands and says her goodbyes before briskly walking out to her car. She’s probably off to move another miserable kid to another new home.

Castiel jumps at the touch of a warm hand on his shoulder and flips around to face whoever touched him. Ellen retracts her hand slowly and smiles at him in apology without saying a word. 

“Sorry bud, didn’t mean to scare you. Come on now, let’s give you a tour of the place.” Ellen moves forward and into the kitchen. “This is the kitchen. We have a chore list for all the kids; we'll add your name on next week. Usually we have each kid do at least one thing every day. That way you don’t get too lazy.”

She shows him all three floors, which means climbing quite a few stairs, and finally they reach his room on the third floor. It has a big bay window that looks out onto the street. Two beds are situated against a wall.

“You can move the furniture around if you want; you aren’t sharing a room. Normally, when we have a full house, each kid has a roommate. You got lucky.”

He tries his best to smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Singer.”

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything. Dinner is in an hour or so. I’m going to send a few kids up to help you out.” With that said, she leaves.

He likes her. It’s been awhile since he’s liked any of them. His last foster parent, Alastair, was a cruel man with wandering hands and a twisted mind. But in the past few years, Castiel has gotten used to handsy foster parents. That doesn’t mean he likes it; it just means that he's used to it. There's no point in trying to fight something that will never change.

Thinking back, he wasn’t always like this. There may have been a time when he would have fought back and stood up for himself, but not anymore. He isn’t that strong. He only prays for that kind of strength now.

“Need any help?” The floors creak as the girl from the living room walks in.

He shakes his head. “I’m good. I don’t really have much stuff.”

“I’m Jo. Ellen is my mom.”

He lifts his suitcase onto his bed and opens it. “Is she your real mom?”

Jo nods and takes a seat at the end of the other bed. Castiel can feel her eyeballing his suitcase – his _only_ suitcase. He looks her over from the corner of his eye. She doesn’t exactly look like a foster kid, that’s true. She looks normal, happy.

“That all you have?”

He shrugs. He can’t change the fact that he only has a few pairs of jeans, five t-shirts, and one photograph to his name. Jo stands and begins taking the clothes out of his suitcase and placing them in the dresser to his left. 

“What’s your story?” Jo closes the dresser and leans against it.

“Same old, same old. You've probably heard it all.”

“We haven’t had someone new in a year or so. All the kids we have here are either adopted or are in the process of being adopted by my mom and Bobby.”

“What grade are you?”

“I’m a senior this year. You?”

Castiel smiles slightly. “I’m going into eleventh.”

“You’ll love Pacific High.” Jo beams back and shifts her weight awkwardly when he doesn’t return the expression of enthusiasm. “C’mon, it’s time to eat. Mom doesn’t like it when the food gets cold.”

*****

“So what’s the new charity case’s name?” The oldest boy tips his chin at Castiel, looking to Ellen and Bobby for an answer as they all take seats around the large oak table.

“Oh shut up, Gabe.” Kicking the boy beneath the table, Jo sneers. “Don’t forget that you’re a charity case too.”

“Joanna, y'know we don't treat our siblings like that. Gabe, apologize to Castiel. Jo, you say you’re sorry too.” Ellen makes hawk eyes at the both of them. After they mutter their apologies, she relaxes and returns her attention to her plate.

The back door to the kitchen swings open and a red-headed girl wearing a filthy hoodie and a ratted pair of jeans stalks into the dinning room. "I'm home!" She announces and glares down at Ellen, before pretending to check the nonexistent watch on her wrist. "And wow! It's not past my curfew! I know, it's a miracle."

"Why don't you join us for dinner, Anna?" Ellen sets down her fork and looks up at the girl. "We have a new member to the family."

Without looking at him, Anna waves her hand in a dismissive greeting. "Nice to meet you. I'm not hungry. Goodnight everyone." The girl swiftly leaves the room, stomping up the stairs in a fury. 

Forcing a smile, Ellen picks her fork back up. "That is Anna, she's been with us for a few months now." The table is silent, stuck in the awkward silence left behind from the confrontation. 

Castiel catches a side glance from Ellen and realizes that everyone has started eating and he still hasn’t touched his food. He hurriedly starts shoveling food into his mouth, trying to catch up to the others, as if it were a race. The kids stop talking to gaze with bewildered expressions at him; he more or less looks like he hasn’t eaten in days by the way his plate is nearly empty and his mouth is crammed full. In all fairness, it _has_ been awhile since he’s eaten an actual meal. Hospital food isn’t even close to real food.

Dinner continues in what Castiel presumes is the normal fashion. Once or twice an argument ensues, but it never lasts for long with Ellen nearby. Towards the end of the meal, Ellen meets his eye and clears her throat and the rest of the table falls silent.

Ellen looks to Castiel. “You haven’t said a word since we sat down. Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself, Castiel?”

He can feel his palms become sticky. Oh god, what if he says the wrong thing? This could end so many different ways. “I’m sixteen, soon to be seventeen.”

He stops, looking over at Ellen to see if he is finished. She nods encouragingly. Great _,_ he has to keep talking. What is he supposed to say? His life story isn’t exactly inspiring or happy. _Oh, well, my mom is dead and my dad left me._ Not really a good conversation starter.

It’s not like he wants to start a conversation; Castiel has never particularly liked talking to people. According to his mother, when she was still alive, his “people skills” are a bit “rusty,” whatever that means.

He glances down at his lap, as if the right words might be written somewhere on his crotch. Negative. Nothing neatly printed for him to announce.

“I’m happy to be here.” It’s not exactly the worst lie he has ever come up with. He smiles to enforce its believability. The truth is, he’d much rather be at some club in the city with a blunt between his thumb and index finger, but he doesn’t mention that.

Castiel gazes around the table. He lets the conversation around him shift away to another topic.

The youngest of the kids, Adam, reminds him of himself. Adam hasn’t said a word since he sat down, and his face bears an expression of complete and utter disdain. His eyes are sad – the type of sad where you know his story is just awful and horrifying. Castiel wonders whether the horrifying part came before he was put into the system or after. Castiel sneaks another look at the boy’s eyes and concludes that the story is probably just horrifying all around.

At the end of the meal, Castiel helps Ellen and Jo with the dishes while everyone else goes into the living room to watch some television. Uninterested in TV, Castiel heads back up to the third floor afterwards. He isn’t sure whether this place is too good to be true or just as good as it seems. Either way, his guard won’t be let down. He’s let his guard down before and it didn’t end well for him.

Castiel goes to his dresser and sets out clothes for tomorrow – it'll save him a few extra minutes in the morning. Outside, across the street, a large black car pulls into the driveway of a beautiful white Colonial and a boy about Castiel’s age gets out. Lingering outside for a few moments, the boy leans his back against the car's door and looks up at the sky. Even from far away, Castiel can feel some sort of irresistible gravity radiating off him. Castiel wonders if he will see this boy at school. The boy glances around the street and then hurriedly bounds up the steps of the house and disappears behind the red front door.

Tomorrow is the first day of school for him; it’s already well into the first semester and he missed a lot while he was living with Alastair. The thought of Alastair sends coldness through his body. In search of warmth, Castiel gets into bed, fully prepared to be woken up in the middle of the night by roaming hands and drunken kisses.

*****

Dean Winchester hates Algebra II. He hates it even more now that Mr. Henricksen teaches the class. The dude is always getting on his case about paying attention and remembering to finish the last stupid problem on the last freaking page of the test. Big deal, it's one problem out of forty. Dean can miss four points; he'll still fail the test either way.

The only reason Dean is passing this class with a solid C is because he can’t get kicked off the football team. If his dad discovered Dean was failing a class, he would personally make a noose and hang Dean with it.

 John Winchester has made it very clear that Dean is supposed to get a full-ride football scholarship to University of Kansas. It’s the family dream. John’s dad went there, John went there, and now Dean will go too.

That really isn’t Dean’s dream, but he does need a scholarship because his grades sure as hell won’t get him into any school. He’s good in auto shop class and he’s enjoying physics this year, but that’s it. School isn’t exactly his – what’s that word – forte? Dean plans on coming home after graduating from college with an engineering degree or some shit like that and taking over Bobby’s shop when he’s ready to retire. That’s _Dean’s_ dream.

 John and Mary Winchester only want the best for their son. They want Dean to have a perfect little house with a white picket fence, a loyal wife, three or four kids, and a stable job. John wants Dean to be successful, and to marry a loving and doting housewife. Mary could care less whom Dean marries as long as he’s happy. Dean doesn’t know what he wants.

“Winchester.” Mr. Henricksen’s voice is firm, with a twinge of impatience; it cuts right into Dean’s thoughts. He takes a few steps until he stands in front of Dean’s desk. “Can you please tell me the formula to find the inverse of a matrix?”

Dean stares blankly at his notes. The room is quiet; the intensity of it could slice through stone. He knows everyone thinks he’s an idiot, Even Dean thinks so.

“No. I don’t know, sorry.”

Henricksen leans in closer and whispers, “Talk to me after class, Dean.”

The teacher asks another student, someone Dean has never seen before. The boy replies instantly and Henricksen moves on to his next victim, but Dean doesn’t follow. His eyes are glued to the boy sitting exactly two seats ahead and one row over from him. He must be new; Dean would have noticed him by now if he'd been here when the year started.

The guy is gorgeous with dark, mussed hair and light blue eyes. Fucking great, just what Dean needs: another distraction.

The bell rings, signaling it’s finally freaking time for lunch. Dean packs up his things and heads for the door. Just as he is walking out, someone grabs his shoulder and pulls him back into the classroom. Henricksen gives him a sharp, sarcastic smile and sits down at his desk, motioning Dean over.

“You have trouble paying attention.”

“Really? I didn’t notice, Mr. H. Please, tell me what this means.”

The teacher leans back in his chair and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Dean there are medications and treatments that can help you in school if you have attention issues.”

“I don’t want to be fucking medicated.” Dean can feel the anger, all the pent-up frustration of not being able to pass a simple math class. He just wants to learn like any normal kid. Is it really that hard to pass Algebra? Everyone else seems to have done it just fine. “I don’t want to be fixed. I just want to pass this stupid class so that I can get the hell out of this dump.”

“Watch the language. Dean, listen to me.” Dean turns on his heels, heading for the door, Henricksen shouts after him. “Winchester! I’m talking to you!”

“Screw you.” Dean leaves in a fury, stomping down to the cafeteria.

 *****

In the cafeteria, Jo sits at her usual table with Pamela, Chuck, and one unfamiliar face – the boy from Dean’s math class, the new student. Jesus freaking Christ, Dean has never seen someone so beautiful. The boy has dark hair that sticks out in various directions, fucking perfect full pink lips, and blue eyes he could get lost in. It takes Dean a moment to realize that the boy is staring back at him with an equal amount of intensity.

“Dean, what the hell are you doing? Sit down, dumbass. You look like a complete idiot standing in the middle of the room.” Jo pops a grape into her mouth. Dean takes a seat next to her, directly across from the new kid.

The boy is still staring at him intently. Dean can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. It must be the heating; he never blushes unless it’s hot. Geez, doesn’t the school know winter doesn’t start for two more months? He pulls at the collar of his shirt and reaches across the table to snag one of Jo’s grapes.

“Who’s the new kid?” Dean asks, trying to act casual.

“I’m Castiel.” The boy’s voice is deep, nearly scratchy. The sound sends a heated spark straight through Dean’s stomach.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Castiel? Kind of a weird name.”

“I’m named after the angel of Thursday.”

 _Angel?_ Dean thinks. _Well, you fit the bill._

Pamela scoots closer to Castiel and wets her lips. “You’re named after an angel? I can see the resemblance.”

The boy furrows his brow. “Angels are not physical beings. They have no appearance.”

Pamela shrugs and steals a grape off of Jo’s tray. “Well, honey, if angels looked like something, they would look like you, because you are one of God’s best creations.”

Jo lets out a snort from beside Dean. “Coming on a bit strong there, Pam. Why don’t you lay off the kid? It’s his first day. You’ll have all year to flatter him.”

“So, Castiel, where you from?” Dean uses his most charming smile and meets Castiel’s stare head-on. He swears he could fucking melt under that heated gaze.

“San Francisco.” Cas breaks the eye contact and looks down at his lap.

“Why’d your family move here in the middle of the semester? That’s kind of inconvenient,” Dean asks.

Castiel fidgets uncomfortably for moment and answers, “I was put into the Singer’s foster home.” Castiel takes a shaky breath. “I’m going to go find my next class. Nice meeting you all.”

“Way to go, Dean. You should’ve known better than to ask him that. Wasn’t it obvious?” Jo glares at him, swatting his hand away from her tray.

Dean runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, Jo, I’m sorry.”

Jo gets up. “Tell Castiel that, not me.”

*****

The house is quiet at night. Castiel manages to slip out the side door a little after midnight. The mid-August air cools his hot skin and soothes away his flushed cheeks. He breathes in, expecting pure air to cleanse his lungs, but instead he finds a faint smell of smoke lingering nearby. He follows it.

Off to the side of the porch Castiel finds Anna with a cigarette dangling delicately between two of her fingers. Her red lips quirk upwards in a smile and she extends her arm to him, offering up the cigarette.

Initially, he thinks it best to refuse, but the temptation overrules his morals. Castiel sits beside her and takes a long drag.

“Never would have thought you’d be the smoking type.”

“I’m full of surprises.” He reluctantly passes the cigarette back to her and watches as she takes a drag and exhales through her nose. “It’s been a while, though. I was locked up for a few months.”

Anna’s eyes widen in surprise and she lets out a satisfied hum, as if she had just discovered an interesting mystery. “Again, never would have thought that either. Where were you locked up at? Chanderjian?”

“No. I was at a hospital for a few months.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “They don’t lock you up at hospitals. Not unless you go crazy.”

Castiel doesn’t bother to say anything, he just waits patiently. When he doesn’t reply, she looks over at him and whispers, “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I was at Ventura for six months, and then they let me out and brought me here. Which isn’t much better, I might add.”

“What did you do?”

She stabs out the cigarette on the porch and tosses the remaining butt into the neighbor’s bushes. “I got busted for possession.” Her tone is bitter.

“That’s too bad. Do you sell?”

“No. I use.”

He nods. Castiel has never been into the drug business, but he has used before. Actually, he used to use on a weekly basis. God, the rush, and that feeling of invincibility – it was the only time he ever felt free.

“If you’re ever looking for something, let me know.” Anna’s lips break into a smile, revealing a wide set of white teeth. She really is a pretty girl. Her fiery red hair brings out her pale skin and her body is long and lanky. But her eyes are tired – most foster kids have tired eyes – and her bare arms have a few track marks running along the insides of them.

Castiel returns the smile. “I’ll consider it.”

A car pulls up to the curb in front of the house. Anna puts out her cigarette and hops off of the porch. “I’ve gotta go. Don’t tell them you saw me, alright? I’ll be home by the end of the week, anyways.” She dashes across the lawn in a flurry of red hair and pale limbs before slipping into the idling car and speeding away, leaving Castiel alone.

“She does that a lot.” Castiel jumps at the unexpected voice and turns to see Dean sitting on the steps of his porch. “You gonna tell Jo?”

He shakes his head, flicking the butt of the cigarette off of the porch. “It’s none of my business, and she asked me not to.”

“I’m sorry about yesterday. I should have realized—”

“Don’t work yourself up over it, Dean. It’s okay.”

“Okay.”

Taking one last glance out onto the empty street, Castiel inhales deeply, wishing he could run for miles and never stop. Maybe if he sprouted wings and flew away his problems would disappear, or maybe they'd still weigh him down to earth. There is something about the dark night sky lit by the moon that makes Castiel want to fly towards the pale orb. It looks so lonely. It must need a friend. Cas takes a single glance at Dean and sees that the boy had been watching him. He nods a goodbye and heads back inside. 

*****

Castiel spends the next few days in a rush – catching up on schoolwork, figuring out Gabe’s odd routines, and getting to know all his new “family” members. He still hasn’t warmed up to the idea of actually being in a family. Jo says he'll come around to it all. Castiel is skeptical.

The entire house is completely unconventional; they act like a family, but they aren’t. It’s more of a broken home put back together with pieces of tape and globs of glue.

Half the time they don’t know where Anna is. She comes back just as quietly as she goes, and she doesn’t seem to get into trouble for it. She’s a year younger than he is, but she seems to have been through just as much as he has, maybe even more. But that’s her fault. She chooses to do the things she does.

The Singers seem to be pretty relaxed in terms of parenting style. They have enough experience to know what they're doing. Over the last fifteen years they've taken in over twenty teenage kids. When Castiel asked why they only take in teens, Jo had looked at him as if he was stupid and said, “Because who wants a kid who’s almost grown up?”

So now the Singers have Gabe, Anna, Adam, and himself to care for, because no one wants kids who are almost grown up.

“If you don’t mind, Mrs. Singer, I have a personal question for you.” Castiel sneaks a quick look at Ellen, who is stirring something in a large pot on the stove. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jo dash through the hall and up the stairs, yelling about a missing shoe.

Ellen puts a lid on the pot. “Honey please, just call me Ellen, for God’s sake. You’re living in my house. You need to feel comfortable here.”

Castiel shifts in his seat at the kitchen table. “Okay, Ellen.” He pauses, trying to adjust his mouth around the name. “How do you afford this life? With this house and all the children? I mean, it must be expensive and neither of you have high-paying jobs.”

“Bobby had a bit of a lottery ticket addiction a few years back. It was the stupidest thing, I swear. I hated it, tried to get him to quit for the longest time, but he's stubborn. One day he came home with a few scratchers. Turns out that one of them was a winning ticket. We decided to use the money to buy a bigger house and start helping more kids."

Ellen smiles at him and crosses the room to take a seat at the table. “I have a question for you.” Castiel nods, urging her to continue, without looking up from his homework. Ellen reaches over and closes his textbook, keeping him from continuing his work. “Castiel, it’s about your last foster parent.”

Praying comes easily to Castiel. He’s done it to keep himself sane over his years in the system and on the streets. But never in his life has Castiel prayed more than when he was living with Alastair.

“Jo tells me you’ve been having nightmares; she hears you screaming at night. It sounds like it’s not only an issue for her, but she’s also worried about you. She doesn’t know what the dreams are about, but I took a wild guess since this seems to happen to quite a few foster kids. Honey, this is important, so don’t you go lying to me.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “I know what Alastair did to you,” — _no, no you don’t_ — “and I know that even after those months in that hospital, you aren’t okay. If you want, we can talk about changing your therapy sessions from every two months to every three weeks or so. What do you say?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he splutters and pushes away from the table, struggling to stand up.

“Castiel, it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. I just want—”

His vision is becoming blurry with tears and the images of his past. “No, I didn’t tell anyone that. That never happened—”

“Honey I know that you’re sca—”

“No! It never happened!”

It’s too much to think about and there's not enough time to think. The room is too hot and Castiel feels unhinged – out of control, lost, and scared. His breathing becomes rapid and uneven. He can feel the tears rolling down his face. It’s all a blur and time stops. He feels himself falling, slamming down hard. It’s so dark. He is alone despite the yells and screams ringing in his ears, the sound of feet coming down the stairs and smacking on the cherry hardwood floors. Arms are around him and it’s all out of his control.

He’s a feather drifting into oblivion, nothing holding him down because the rest of him has already fallen. There is nothing left unbroken in Castiel and it feels lovely to fade away and forget for a while…if only for a minute or two.

*****

“Oh my God, mom, I think Castiel is awake.” Jo releases Castiel’s hand and runs into another room, most likely to get Ellen.

His head is pounding, Castiel cannot remember the last time he had a headache so painful.

Ellen rushes into the room and kneels down next to the couch Castiel is laying on. She presses a hand to his forehead. “Are you alright?”

“What happened?” Castiel grumbles, sitting up.

Ellen hands him a glass of water. “You hit your head. You tried to get up but you fainted and fell down.”

“That explains the headache.” Castiel winces at the sharp pain spiking through his skull.

Jo rushes out of the room for aspirin, leaving Castiel and Ellen alone. Ellen speaks first, “I’m sorry I asked, but if you ever need to tell me anything, don’t even hesitate to do it.”

Eye contact seems too risky. Castiel decides to settle for staring at his hands, but Ellen lifts his chin to meet his gaze. “I mean it, mister. Don’t even think twice. You just come straight to me and I will be here. I will always be here. Even if you get moved to another home I will be right here for you.”

This is a different feeling. One that Castiel hasn’t felt in a long time, or maybe he's never felt it before. It’s odd and it fills him with a soft glow. His body buzzes and settles down, like a bee hive getting ready for slumber. He feels calm and optimistic. Castiel comes to the conclusion that this feeling is hope. He likes having hope.

*****

Later that night Castiel stretches out on his bed and stares at the ceiling for an hour, wishing he had something to keep his mind busy. He plays with the idea of getting out his pocket knife and carving shapes into his skin, but what he really wants is some cocaine, even though he’s been clean for months now. The urge can be so much worse than actually doing it. God, but the high he gets from it is phenomenal. If only he could sneak out for a few hours and—

“Hey Castiel.” Jo knocks on the open door. “Can I come in?”

He nods and she closes the door behind her, looking around at the bare walls. She sits at the end of his bed and watches him for a moment. He wonders if he still looks like a ghost after having fainted.

“I felt like I had to tell you that I’m, um, always here for you if you need me. I know mom can be kinda hard to open up too, and so can Bobby, so I thought I’d tell you I’m listening.”

“Thank you.”

“Mom also wanted me to let you know that you have a therapy session tomorrow, I’m supposed to drive you after school.”

“Very well.” He waits for her to leave, but she doesn’t. “Jo?”

“Yeah?”

“What is the name of that boy from lunch?”

“That’s Dean. He’s kind of a dumbass.”

“I like him.” Castiel smiles, drawing constellations on his ceiling in his head.

“Don’t we all.”

*****

“Castiel, Dr. Carter would like to see you now.”

He stands and follows the nurse through the narrow halls. She opens a door to an empty room and tells him to wait there. He takes a seat on a worn leather sofa under a window; the leather is hot from the sun beating down on it for God knows how long.

Dr. Carter enters the room, coffee in one hand, silver hair pulled back into a neat bun at the top of her head. She usually wears it down.

She settles into her chair across the table and pulls a clipboard into her lap. “How are you feeling today, Castiel?”

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t bother asking her how she is; he knows that she will just tell him that they are here to talk about him, not her. “I’m taking my antidepressants and my sleeping aids. I eat three times a day and I do my homework.”

She chuckles and jots down something. “You make it sound like a chore.”

“Make what sound like a chore?”

“Life.”

“That’s because it is.” She has pretty eyes – sort of green, or maybe blue – that scan him before jotting down a note. “What are you writing down?”

She ignores his question. “Have you made any new friends since moving?”

“A few.” Not really. He hasn’t bothered to. It seems pointless to grow attached only to be ripped away again after a few months.

“Do you like your new foster parents?”

“If you mean they don’t make me want to put a gun to my head, then yes, I like them. They’re different.”

She watches him closely for a minute, scanning his face, then his hands and legs. He knows what she’s doing; she’s looking for a sign to tell if he is lying. Therapists always think you’re lying, even if you aren’t. To be fair, Castiel does lie to his therapists quite often.

“Have you been self-harming?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, and I haven’t been doing drugs either. I’m still on my clean slate remember? It’s been a month, have some faith in me, Sharon.”

“Castiel, you know that I don’t like it when you call me that.” She tucks a stray piece of silver hair behind her ear before continuing. “What about the nightmares, are they still occurring?”

He shakes his head and picks up one of those Russian doll things, the ones where you pop it open and there is a smaller one inside, and you pop that one open and there is another. There are so many layers. _Just like actual people_ , he thinks. _You think you get to know someone and you get them to open up, only to find that there are still more layers to be found._

“Castiel, I know that you are having them.”

“These things are like people,” he says quietly, holding up one of the dolls. He likes the painted faces – the red lips and blue eyes.

“Yes, they are, sweetheart. They look like people. Now tell me how bad your dreams are.”

God, he hates her sometimes. She doesn’t get it, because she does it for a living. She doesn’t appreciate the beauty of each new layer. To her it’s like some stupid puzzle, just trying to get to the root of the problem. But that’s not the point. The point is that under every layer is a new person, a new part or piece to learn, and she doesn’t get it.

He closes his eyes in frustration, feeling the ache start in the center of his chest as it works its way throughout his entire body. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Castiel wonders when she reached the layer of him that told her he is a liar. Probably months ago. He doesn’t care. He’s so tired of caring.

“Okay, fine. You won’t tell me about your nightmares, then let’s talk about the house.” She scribbles something down before setting her pencil aside. “I know something happened in that house, Castiel. Please tell me. You will feel so much better if you just tell someone.”

“Nothing happened,” he mutters, glancing at the clock. “It was an accident, just like I told the police.”

“We both know that is not true.”

Mustering up the strength, he stands even though he feels dizzy and makes his way to the door. “But it _is_ true.” He nods a goodbye. “I need to use the restroom.”

Castiel just manages to make it into the bathroom before collapsing to the floor as the echoing screams bounce around inside his head. Quietly, he sings a song his mother used to sing to him at night or on walks, and slowly he comes back to reality: a cold tile floor.

 

_The man seems nice, Castiel thinks. The house is large, sitting atop one of the hills in a small, rich neighborhood in San Francisco. After an hour, his social worker leaves Castiel with his new family._

_There is one other child already living in this home. She has a round face and a small smile that always makes her look smug. Her hair falls in dark curls that surround her face and settle on her shoulders._

_When the man leaves to walk Naomi to her car, the girl snaps her head up and speaks. “Don’t do anything. Don’t even speak unless he asks you a question. He’s evil, Clarence.”_

“ _I’m sorry, my name isn’t Clarence. It’s Castiel. What’s your name?”_

“ _I’m Meg.” She chances a glance towards the hall at the sound of the front door closing. “Just listen to me, okay, kid?”_

_He really hates it when people call him that. He’s about to protest that he isn’t much younger than she is, maybe a year or two, but Alastair enters the room and glares at Meg._

“ _Were you welcoming your new little brother to the family, my darling?” He strides over to Meg, pinching her cheek between two fingers. His voice sounds sweet, but harmful and false, like death._

“ _No, I wasn’t.”_

“ _Good,” he snaps. “Darling daughter of mine, why don’t you show Castiel to his room? I need to finish making dinner.”_

_Without a word, she stands and heads out of the room, Castiel grabs his belongings and chases after her. There are at least five rooms upstairs. Meg leads him to the room at the end of the hall._

“ _My room is right next to yours,” she says. “He won’t do anything to you the first week, not unless you piss him off.”_

“ _I don’t understand…”_

_She rolls her eyes and takes a seat at the end of his bed. “He’s an abusive bastard, Clarence. Just hold your tongue and don’t even bother fighting it when it happens.”_

“ _When what happens?”_

_She looks at him with a detached gaze. “Innocent, beautiful Clarence. You have no clue, do you?”_

_He shakes his head, setting down his suitcase._

“ _There are rooms in this house you don’t ever want to see, there are toys that aren’t that much fun to play with, and there is a dirty, evil man living right down the hall ready to show you a part of this world that is more like Hell than anything else.” She shivers even though the room is warm. “I’m going to try and hold him off from getting to you. You should plan a way to escape.”_

“ _Why would you do that for me?”_

“ _Because I have nothing else to lose.”_

He comes to a few minutes later, eyes stinging with tears and a sick feeling rooted in the pit of his gut. He reaches the toilet just in time, vomiting the contents of his stomach with violent force.

“Fuck me,“ he groans, wiping the remaining bile from the corners of his mouth with the backside of his hand. It’s difficult to stand when the room feels like it’s still spinning, but he manages to get to the sink and splash his face with cold water. Cleaning himself up, he pushes the memory away, far away, and returns to Jo in the lobby.


	2. Chapter 2

“I got a B on my chemistry test.” Sam Winchester lets out a disgusted sigh. “I studied for a week and I got a B.”

“Are you freaking kidding me, Sammy? You should be happy! That’s awesome!” Dean pulls up in front of their house and cuts the engine of his 1967 Chevy Impala, his pride and joy. Sam slams the door of the car and Dean winces. “Hey, watch it!”

Sam’s long, lanky body disappears into the house. God, when will the kid stop growing? He’s fifteen and he's almost six feet tall. Dean’s worried Sam might even pass him up.

Actually, he already passed Dean up. Sam skipped the third grade and fits in fine with his older classmates even though he really is a year younger. The kid’s classes are all Advanced Placement and he’s getting straight A’s. Sam is on the track to an Ivy League college by the age of seventeen and Dean’s going to Kansas.

“Hey mom,” Dean calls as he enters the house. He leans down to kiss her on the cheek. “What’s up?”

“I’m waiting for the oven to warm up. What has gotten into your brother?” Mary stands and moves into the kitchen. Dean follows.

“He got a B on his chemistry test and according to him that’s a bad thing.”

Mary putters around the kitchen. “Well, you know how he is about school.” She idly opens the oven and slides the pan inside. “That reminds me: I got a call from Mr. Henricksen today.”

Dean grimaces at the sight of a bowl of salad. “Mom, rabbit food? Really?”

She picks a piece of lettuce out of the bowl and takes a bite. “We need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what, exactly?” Dean sighs, “I don’t need medication or treatment. I don’t need to be fixed.”

Mary makes her way over to Dean and cups his face in her hands. She strokes his cheek with her thumb. “I’m not trying to fix you; all I want to do is help you.”

Dean hates the idea of needing help. Winchesters don’t need help. He can do this on his own. If Sammy can get through school on his own then so can Dean. There is no reason for him to be in need of assistance, but Dean knows a doctor’s test can argue against that.

“I need some fresh air. I’ll be home for dinner.” He slips out of his mother’s embrace and rushes out the back door. Instinct brings him to the Singers' house, and he walks in the side door without hesitation. He’s on the third floor within minutes, completely out of breath from running up three freaking flights of stairs. They really should put in an elevator.

Jo’s room is empty. Next best thing is to ask Gabe, but there's no one in his room, either. Dean stares helplessly around the empty room with nowhere else to go. Well, maybe he could track down Anna to get his mind off of school for an hour or so. He takes a few hesitant steps back, closing the door to Gabe’s room behind him.

He’s about to go back downstairs when a light in the last room on the hall catches his eye. No one’s had that room since Bela moved out last year. He walks over and nudges the door open, finding Jo and Castiel settled on the queen bed.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Jo snickers, “Girl problems?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Jo you should know better than that. Dean Winchester does not have girl problems.”

Jo snorts. “Really? Because from what I can remember, you were sitting in my room around this time last week bitching about Lisa Braeden turning you down for Homecoming.”

Dean takes a seat on the bed next to Castiel. “Shut up, Jo.” When Dean turns his head, Castiel has his firm gaze on him. Dean can’t pull his eyes away. It seems so cliché, the way he feels like he can get lost in Cas’ eyes. They're like swimming pools just waiting for him to drown in.

“Well, while you two eye-fuck each other, I’m going to go take a shower.” Jo slips out of the room before Dean can argue.

“Hello, Dean.”

This is weird. Dean decides to get up and walk across the room, trying to break whatever spell Cas has on him. There seems to be a current dragging Dean towards the other boy, and he is trying so hard not to let himself sink into it but it all seems inevitable.

Finally, Castiel breaks the trance and looks away. Without Cas staring him down, Dean tries to get a better look at the other boy. The closer he looks, the less he sees a normal teenager. Now Dean sees it all: the dark bruises under Cas’ eyes, the small circular burns along the length of his arms, and the sadness, so much sadness.

It’s all very clear now. Dean’s seen a lot of lost, lonely, depressed kids come through Ellen and Bobby’s place. Not once, out of all of those kids, has Dean ever wanted to make them feel better. Not like this.

“So, what’s the word, Cas?”

He wants to fix it. There is something that Dean can’t quite pinpoint but he needs to fix it. He and Cas _need_ to be friends.

“I’m not familiar with that word, perhaps you should look it up.” Getting off of his bed, Cas goes to rummage through a stack of books. “I believe I have a dictionary somewhere…”

“No, not like that. I was asking you how you were doing, but I called you by Cas instead of Castiel.”

Surprised, Cas sets the book in his hand down and takes a seat in the desk chair. “I rather enjoy that nickname.”

“Good, good…” Dean mumbles, sitting at the end of the bed. “So you like Pacifica?”

“I suppose it’s better than my last residence.”

Dean raises a brow. “Where was that?”

“A mental facility.”

Dean laughs and crosses his arms over his chest, walking idly across the room. It’s a funny joke; he didn’t expect Cas to be a funny guy.

“Good one, Cas.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

“Oh, I thought you – I mean – So, um, what d’you like to do for fun?”

“I don’t know. Read.”

Dean picks up a picture lying on Cas’ dresser. “Do you like movies? I think Jo’s doing a movie night this weekend.”

“I haven’t seen a movie since I was like ten.”

“Well, I'll be at the movie night and I'll be bringing _The Breakfast Club_. So you better be there.” Dean grins and glances at the digital clock on the bedside table. “I gotta go. I’m supposed to be home for dinner.”

“Okay. I will see you this weekend then.”

Cas walks him out and for a moment on the front step they stare at each other. Dean’s not sure what’s with the whole eye contact thing, but damn, is it distracting. When he finally closes his front door behind him, he lets the idea of spending an entire night with all his friends (and Cas) sink in. He hasn’t been this excited in a while.

“Dean, honey, is that you?” Mary walks into the living room, wearing her oven mitts. She waves him forward. “I was worried you’d miss dinner. C’mon, your father and brother are already waiting at the table.”

Dean sighs, taking off his leather jacket and forcing himself to push the image of those perfect blue eyes to the back of his mind for now.

*****

“Where’s the angel?” Pam frowns, scanning the cafeteria for the familiar moppy black head of hair. “Is he adjusting okay?”

Dean glances at Jo, waiting for her response. He has to admit that the new guy is a little weird. Sometimes Castiel will sit by him in math and not say a word unless Dean asks for help. The kid is wicked smart, but an awful conversationalist.

Jo shrugs, picking the pickles off of her sandwich. “He has some issues, but it’s nothing my family can’t handle.” Satisfied with her food, she places the bun back on the sandwich and takes a bite. Talking around her food she says, “He’s kind of weird. Really quiet, always says really odd things. You can tell when he’s nervous because he reads the Bible.”

“Is he a druggie?” Popping open a bag of chips and offering it to Dean, Chuck leans forward. “I mean, he seems the type.”

“You always think they are the type,” Jo snaps, “And the only one you were right about was Anna. By the way, she’s been missing for two days. So if you go into the city, keep an eye out for her.”

“I’m sure she'll come home for the weekend,” Dean replies, trying sound hopeful. “She always likes our movie nights.”

“Only because we bring alcohol.”

Shrugging, Dean pushes his green beans around his plate with the tip of his spork. “She'll come home. She always does, Jo.”

“But maybe one day she won’t.”

Pam places a soothing hand on Jo’s back. “She’ll be home soon. I’m going into the city later, I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

Clearing her throat, Jo sits up straighter. “Okay, thanks Pam.”

*****

In a normal house, most parents don’t leave their teenagers alone for an entire day, knowing that the kids plan to invite even more teens over. But the Singers' home is far from a normal house, and Bobby and Ellen went out to a vineyard for their anniversary this weekend, leaving the teenagers home alone. Even if the kids were to get out of hand, the Winchesters live just across the street.

Castiel finds the whole situation odd. Then again, he has yet to encounter anything that _isn’t_ odd while living with the Singers. They are what you would call a “functionally dysfunctional family”. Castiel supposes he is now part of this dysfunctional family too. It feels like he is, at least.

“Well, hello there, Cassie.” Gabe struts into the bedroom and plops down onto the bed.

Castiel looks up from his book to glare at Gabe. “Why do you call me that? I’ve never been very fond of nicknames.”

_What do you mean, Clarence?_

“Because it’s cute.” Gabe smiles mischievously. “Why in the world are you doing homework? It’s Saturday and people are going to be here in, like, ten minutes. C’mon little bro, get a move on.”

“I’m ready.” Castiel gestures to his outfit: a flannel shirt and hand-me-down jeans. Holding up the novel, he motions to the cover. “And this is for fun.”

Gabe snatches the book away and throws a pair of plaid pajama pants at him. “We don’t wear actual clothes on movie days, just our pajamas.”

Castiel cringes. “You sleep naked.”

“I’m sorry no one warned you about that.” Gabe snorts a laugh. “Well, obviously I’m going to wear something.”

“I hope so.”

The doorbell rings and the sound sends Gabe, Jo, and Anna flying down the stairs. Castiel goes out into the hall and tries to hear who it is from the third floor; he sees Adam doing the same. He goes back into his room and picks up his worn copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_.

Absorbed in his reading, Castiel doesn’t notice Dean reaching the third floor until he lightly knocks on the open door to Castiel’s bedroom.

From his position on the bed, he takes in Dean’s slightly tilted figure and runs it over in his mind. Dean is attractive, that’s for sure. He’s tall and rugged, with large hands and a strong jaw… Castiel’s eyes have just reached Dean’s waist when Dean clears his throat, snapping Castiel back to reality.

“Jo told me to come and get you.” Dean crosses his arms over his chest. It makes the muscles in his arms look bigger; not that Castiel was looking.

“Okay. Let me just put this away.” Castiel closes the book after marking his place and grabs his sweatshirt from the end of his bed, following Dean downstairs.

All the teenagers have gathered in the kitchen, passing around plastic cups and soda. Castiel stays by Dean’s side, not really sure where he fits in. He notices Adam is also standing quietly on the sidelines.

“Jo, I brought Twister!” Pamela turns to Dean and winks. “Clothing optional.”

Dean shoves her playfully. “Oh, shut up, Pam. You’ve seen most, if not all, of me. But I know you’re just dying to see a little bit more of Cas.”

Pamela raises her brow. “And you aren’t? Honestly, Winchester, you’ve been looking at him just as much as I have.”

The taller boy scoffs and looks down at his feet, crimson coloring his cheeks. Castiel smiles and looks at Pam who winks and struts away, swaying her hips obscenely.

Eventually they all make it up to the entertainment room on the third floor. Sam shows up halfway through _The Breakfast Club_. He complains about the inaccuracies of detention and school discipline throughout the movie, Castiel sides with Sam on much of his reasoning. This prompts Dean to tease them about how perfect they are for each other.

At the end of the movie, almost everyone watching raises their fists along with the character who dresses like a homeless man. Castiel doesn’t understand why.

“Twister, anyone?” Pamela calls out after the credits have faded.

“Not everyone can play, there are ten of us,” Jo prompts.

Dean stands. “Well obviously we can play some other games too.”

“Fine, who wants to play Twister first?” Jo asks.

Dean, Pamela, Jo, and Castiel head over to play Twister. Sam tags along to spin the arrow that dictates the actions. Within minutes, Jo is sitting out because Dean supposedly pushed her, and the three that remain are still playing.

In the end, Castiel has to slide beneath Dean to reach a blue dot. It’s a precarious situation, with Dean looming over Cas and slowly losing the strength to keep himself up.

“Dean, if you fall on me, I will kill you,” Castiel mutters as he stretches his foot to reach the dot. “This game is a hazard.”

“I doubt you could.” Dean looks down at him, eyes crinkling with laughter. “And for someone who thinks this is dangerous, you’re pretty damn good at it.”

“Try me,” Castiel snaps back.

Sam shouts, “Dean you gotta move left foot to red.”

With that said, Dean comes crashing down on top of Castiel, crushing him. The two erupt into a laughing heap.

“Dean get off me,” Cas laughs, pushing the hysterical boy off him.

“Alright, I’m off. I’m off!” Dean raises his hands in surrender.

Castiel shoves the other boy. “Try your best to stay off me.”

Gabe shouts an “Ayo!” from his place on the couch.

Dean and the others join a group playing “Never Have I Ever”. They all sit in a circle waiting for Cas to come back; a lot of the kids are putting their clothes back on to start the new round. Dean's cheeks are burning from Castiel’s comment. He can still feel Cas’ body flush against his. The thing is, Dean doesn’t get flustered around girls _or_ boys, so why does Cas have him blushing like a ten-year-old girl?

“Who wants to start?” Ash looks around the circle.

Jo raises a hand up. “I’ll start. Never have I ever stolen from a store.”

Dean watches as Gabe reluctantly takes off a shoe. “Really, Gabe? What did you steal?”

“I really wanted a Milky Way bar.”

“Such a rebel,” Pam gasps.

Gabe rolls his eyes. “Shut up. Never have I ever kissed Dean-o.”

“Seriously Gabe?” Dean watches as everyone except Castiel and Gabe takes off a piece of clothing.

Castiel looks surprised. “I didn’t know Dean swings both ways.”

“He gets around. He’ll get around to you, too, don’t worry,” Jo giggles.

Dean cuts in, fumbling over his words for an explanation. “I only kissed Chuck planetly and –“

Sam interrupts him, “Dean, I think you mean _platonically_.”

“My turn! Never have I ever cried during a movie.” Dean shouts over the laughter.

Castiel takes off his sweatshirt, revealing tanned muscular arms spotted with small circular burns – the burns that Dean had noticed a few days earlier. Dean wonders what other scars the boy hides beneath his layers of clothes.

Cas says, almost reluctantly, “Never have I ever kissed a girl.”

Pamela turns her head to look Cas over. “Well, I can change that.”

“No, thank you, Pam,” Cas laughs, eyes glancing to Dean in a nervous flurry.

Jo nudges Cas. “Oh c’mon, just kiss her and get it out of the way. She’s going to be on your case all year until you do.”

“Fine.”

Pamela scoots in front of Cas and dives in for the kiss, almost knocking him over in the process. Dean wishes it was him kissing Cas. God, his lips are probably just a little chapped, but still smooth when he'd run his tongue over the bottom lip for entrance, and Cas would open his mouth for him, sliding their tongues together. Cas would grab Dean’s neck to deepen the kiss and—

Fuck. Stop it, Dean.

“Okay, let’s move on.” Dean clears his throat and catches Cas’ eye. He holds the gaze for a moment until Cas’ lips quirk up into a smirk and Dean looks down, flushing.

*****

“You’re totally into him.” Jo smiles devilishly. “God, I can feel the sexual tension.”

“Shut it, Jo.” Dean grabs the armful of blankets Jo hands him, tucking it beneath his armpits. “I don’t like—”

Jo shoves a pillow in his face. “Oh, cut the crap, Winchester. I’ve known for years. You don’t have to put on the hetero-shield with me.”

“I hate you.”

She grins and collects the remaining blankets in her arms. “No, you don’t. He’s cute. You should see the way you two look at each other. Jesus Christ, it’s like no one else is around.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dean can feel a blush creeping up his neck. “

He’s just a friend.”

She takes the stairs two at a time, calling out behind her. “Not for long!”

*****

_He's been there for three weeks, total. It started this week. For some inane reason, Castiel thought it would be a brilliant idea to talk back to Alastair. He wasn’t expecting this. He never would have thought it would lead to this._

_Within the last week, he has been beaten, starved, and sexually assaulted. Within the last week he has screamed, cried, and prayed more than he has ever in his entire life. This is what Hell feels like._

_At some point he started to believe that he deserves this, but then he convinced himself that was untrue. No one deserves this…_

“ _Clarence?”_

_A whisper, just a tiny whisper coming from the slot in the wall._

“ _Meg? Meg, please help me. Get me out of here, please.” Dragging himself across the floor, he reaches the slot. He sounds so needy and foreign to himself. “Why doesn’t he just kill me?”_

“ _You need to stop talking back to him,” she whispers urgently, looking over her shoulder. “No one has ever been in the pit this long, not even me.”_

_The basement door squeaks open and Meg curses before scurrying away, probably to hide as Alastair makes his way to the pit, humming to himself._

_As the man unlocks the door, Castiel scoots away into a corner, whimpering._

“ _How’s Daddy’s little trouper?”_

“ _Fuck off!”_

“ _Now, now. That’s not how we treat our parents, is it?” Grabbing a handful of Castiel’s black hair, Alastair yanks the boy forward. “We treat them with love and respect, and in return, you will receive love and respect.”_

_Not the kind of love Castiel wants._

_The hand in his hair loosens its grip as it slides down to cradle his face. Alastair kneels down to his eye level._

“ _Such a pretty boy.” Alastair’s smile grows. “It’s been a while since Daddy had a boy in the house.”_

_Castiel pulls away from the touch, glaring at the man before him._

“ _So much soul in those eyes of yours, Castiel.” Alastair clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “Now, that just won’t do, will it? We’ll have to take care of that.”_

_It all happens fast as Alastair wraps his hands around Castiel’s neck and wrestles him to the floor. He screams the typical: “Please, stop!” and “No, don’t!” but it gets lost in the sounds of skin slapping together, and as Castiel grows tired of fighting it, he also gets lost in the darkness of the pit._

_After it’s all over and Alastair leaves him lying on the cold, moldy cellar floor, Meg scurries back over and tries to get the door open to check on him._

“ _I’m sorry, Castiel,” she whispers, her face pressed against the metal bars separating them. “I couldn’t stop it. I’ll save you next time.”_

“ _There is nothing left to save.”_

*****

It’s still dark when Dean wakes up. Flipping onto his side, he notices the empty space beside him. Dean looks around just in time to see Cas slip out of the room. Curious to see what his friend is doing, Dean follows, edging around the other sleeping bodies and tiptoeing out onto the third floor landing. Cas’ figure disappears into another room. Dean quietly lingers in the doorway, watching Cas fumble around the moonlit room.

After a few minutes, Cas comes back towards the door. Dean hides around the corner but continues trailing behind Cas. They reach the first floor and Cas heads outside, settling himself on the front porch.

“I followed you,” Dean explains as he steps out of the house and closes the door behind him.

Cas wipes at his face, trying to cover up that he'd been crying. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I was being quiet.”

Castiel hums.

“You okay?”

Cas clears his throat. “I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“I said I’m fine, Dean.”

“Usually, I’m not one for talking about feelings but I’m trying to be here for you, Cas.”

“Why?”

Dean meets Cas’ gaze. “Because you’re a cool guy.”

“I think you’re mistaken.”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I mean it. You’re pretty awesome, dude.”

“You are a good friend, Dean.”

“You too, buddy.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, soaking in their newfound friendship. Occasionally, a clap of thunder interrupts the quiet hum of companionship, making Castiel jump and Dean look to the still-shaken boy. By the time it finally starts to drizzle, Cas has gradually inched his body closer to Dean’s, as if searching for a heat source.

“When my mom was still alive, she used to take me on a walk every time it rained. She loved the rain.” Cas huffs out a laugh and smiles. It’s not a full smile; it’s a little sad, like Cas knows that if she were still alive, maybe they would still go on those walks.

“Do you miss her?”

“Sometimes I do. There are days when I don’t think about her at all and there are days when I miss her so much that I can’t breathe.”

Dean watches the rain pound on the pavement, steady and sure – something he is not. He gazes at his house sitting perfectly across the street, blurred from the rain.

“What was she like?”

“Her name was Hope.” Cas laughs bitterly. “It’s ironic because I used to believe, almost _hope_ , that she would always be with me. Then my father disappeared, and she was gone not long after that…” He trails off, as if it’s happening all over again and he can’t believe it. “But she used to smile in this way that would light up a room and I used to feel an overwhelming sense of joy when she would give me even the slightest smile. On my bad days she would sing to me. I wish I could sing, but I can’t. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I just really want a fucking cigarette.”

Dean isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. Comforting someone isn’t exactly his forte and he would probably screw it up in a matter of seconds if he tried. But Cas is leaning on him and all Dean can think to do is pat him on the back. It’s not nearly enough and Dean knows it, but it’s all he has for now. Maybe when they are better friends Dean could offer up his affection, his support. Instead, Dean half-holds the crying boy, hoping that one day he can do more.

Dean doesn’t expect it, but suddenly Cas is sitting up and wiping furiously at his face and turning to Dean. “Do you have any weed?”

“No, but I have some booze. It’s in my bag in the kitchen. We could go get it.”

The two boys head inside, settling themselves in Castiel’s bedroom with a bottle of vodka. They pass it back and forth, neither one bothering to say much at all, just enjoying the quiet company. Eventually the liquid loosens their limbs and tongues.

“D’you think Jo is pretty?” Dean eyes Cas through half-lidded eyes. He likes the way the boy looks in flannel pajama bottoms and an oversized sweatshirt.

“No – well, yes – but I don’t even like girls.”

“But you like dudes?” Raising a brow Dean looks at Cas through hooded eyelashes.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no it’s not.”

“Good,” Cas giggles, leaning forward to smile at Dean. “Do you like boys?”

“I don’t know what I like.” He can’t stop himself from answering so honestly. Cas trusted him, and now Dean needs to trust Cas, because that’s just what friends do.

With a small smile, Cas pats Dean’s hand. “That’s okay, too.”

For the first time in a long time, Dean feels okay.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Gordon’s shouting at one of the sophomores. The kid made it to the Varsity football team but really shouldn’t have because he doesn’t know how to freaking defend for his life. Across the field, sitting in the bleachers, Dean can see Cas, head bent over a book.

Lately, Cas tags along to Dean’s practices, saying he likes to study outside anyways. Dean thinks Cas just doesn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts. He understands what that’s like.

He jogs across the field to the bleachers, taking two steps at a time to reach Cas. The boy doesn’t even look up when Dean plops down beside him and picks up Cas’ water bottle, taking three huge gulps from the metal container.

“Wanna come to the game this Friday night?” He watches from the corner of his eye as Cas sits up a little straighter and cocks his ear towards Dean, never looking up from his book. “I mean, I understand if you’re busy or something, but it’d be kinda cool if you could come. It’s the homecoming game so there will be a lot of—”

“Sure, Dean.”

“—school spirit and the half time show will be really good.”

With an annoyed sigh, Cas looks at Dean. Dean’s skin prickles with goose bumps, but he blames it on the wind. “Are you going to keep mumbling like an idiot? I said yes, dumbass.” Someone whistles down on the field and they both turn to see John Winchester stomping towards them.

Dean’s stomach drops at the sight of his father and he is now all-too-aware of how close he and Cas were sitting next to one another. Quickly, Dean stands and goes back down to the grass to meet with his dad. When he reaches John, he nods a hello.

“I didn’t think you’d stop by today.”

John glares up at the bleachers, eyes fixed on Castiel. “Yeah, well I thought you’d actually be playin’. But you ain’t, you’re just fucking around the whole damn time.”

Dean cringes, glancing back at Cas. “We had a break. I was—”

“Don’t give me an excuse. There are a million things you can do during breaks and talking to that trash ain’t one of ‘em.”

“You don’t even know who that is!”

John squints at Cas and huffs a humorless laugh. “That’s one of Bobby’s adoptees.” He lowers his gaze back to Dean, his eyes dark, emotionless. “I’ve seen enough foster kids to know that they rarely are any good.”

Dean wants to argue, but he doesn’t. He holds his tongue and swallows his words like a scared little boy rather than a man.

“I don’t want you hanging out with him unless you absolutely have to. You got that? You gotta be focused right now anyways.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now get your ass back on the field! There’s a game on Friday.” John slaps Dean on the back, shoving him back towards the field. “Losing ain’t an option!”

With caution, Dean takes one last look at the bleachers, only to find them empty.

*****

Castiel enjoys the time he spends at school. Learning is important to him; it gives him the chance to make a better future for himself, one that could be different from his past. He spends all his class time soaking up as much knowledge as possible, and sometimes during lunch, if he isn’t that hungry, he heads to the library to check out the new books.

Some days he sees Sam Winchester there and they sit at the same table. They rarely talked at first, but over the past couple weeks they've became rather close.

Castiel settles down at his usual table, nearest the encyclopedias and facing the window that overlooks the football field. He takes out his math homework and looks it over, checking for mistakes.

“Hey Cas, whatcha doing?” Sam throws his bag onto the table and pulls out a chair. The librarian hushes him. Sam nods apologetically and lowers his voice. “Dean’s looking for you.”

Castiel looks up for the first time since Sam arrived. He glances around the room, searching for Dean's leather jacket. “Why is he looking for me?”

Sam shrugs. “I think it’s about some party.”

“I don’t go to parties.”

Well, he used to go out when he lived in the city. He used to sneak out quite often. Late at night, under the cover of darkness, he’d run off to a club or a party and sneak in somehow. But he has never been to a high school party.

“Well, it sounded like you're going to this one.” Sam follows Castiel’s gaze. “What are you looking for?”

Immediately, Castiel lowers his eyes back down to his papers. “Nothing. How’s your art project going?”

“It sucks.”

“Who’s your partner, again?”

“Jessica.” Sam’s tone softens, a smile creeping its way onto his face. “She’s really pretty, Cas.”

This isn’t exactly Castiel’s area of expertise. He clears his throat. “Do you like her?”

“Yeah…I think I do.”

“Oh, well maybe you should talk to Dean about it. I’m sure he knows all sorts of tricks for getting girls.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel sees Dean enter the library. He watches as the older boy stands on his toes and scans the room until his (perfect) green eyes settle on Sam and Castiel. Nearly knocking over a table, Dean crosses the room and pulls out the chair across from Castiel.

“Cas, there’s a party after the game and you’re going!” Dean smiles (a little too enthusiastically, Castiel might add). The librarian shushes Dean; he raises an apologetic hand.

“I’ve heard.”

Dean’s enthusiasm fades. “You don’t sound excited.”

“I don’t care for parties.”

“Oh, you’ll care about this one.”

“Why’s that?” Castiel has forced himself to keep his eyes down, avoiding Dean’s gaze, but he falters and looks up.

With a cocky wink, Dean stands. “Because I’m gonna be there.”

*****

“Cas, you gotta be shitting me right now. Your wardrobe is _lacking_ , man.” Dean cringes as he looks over the few clothes Castiel has laid out on his bed. Dean runs a hand over his face, still sweaty from the football game he played earlier. “No wonder Jo called me over here to help you.”

Dean looks back at Cas, who appears completely clueless about the situation at hand but somehow adorable in his obliviousness. “Dean, I don’t understand what’s wrong with what I have.”

“C’mon, we’re going over to my house. You can borrow something of mine.” Dean heads for the door, waiting for Cas to follow, but he doesn’t. Dean ends up dragging Cas by the arm across the street to his house. At the slightest touch between the two, Dean’s skin prickles, but eventually he releases Cas’ arm and the feeling fades.

It just so happens that John Winchester decides to walk in through the back door at the exact moment that Dean and Cas are walking in the front. The uneasy feeling in Dean’s stomach starts. Luckily, John grabs a cold one from the fridge and goes back out to the garage, not even noticing the two boys heading upstairs to Dean’s room.

“Alright, let me put on some music.” Dean smiles as he closes the door behind him and crosses the room to his music collection.

Once he starts his favorite Metallica tape, Dean turns to find Cas still standing by the door, looking around the room. There's something kind of adorable about the way Cas is looking at all of Dean’s family photos, the way his face lights up when he sees a picture of a family vacation or a birthday party, but Dean would never admit that.

He makes his way to Cas, stopping just inches from the boy. They stare at each other, the space between them growing smaller as the gaze intensifies, until it all becomes too much and he looks away. Dean’s not sure what Cas is thinking about, but all Dean can imagine is personally taking off Cas’ clothes for him. Despite the urge, Dean leads Cas to his closet.

“So your jeans are alright. You need a new shirt, a jacket, and maybe some shoes.” He sneaks a wary look at Cas’ nearly-rotted sneakers before Dean glances back up at him. “We'd better get a move on.” Dean grabs a few articles of clothing and hands them to Cas. “Here.”

For some reason, Cas makes an annoyed face as Dean turns around to rifle through his dresser for a pair of jeans, just in case. What’s the big deal? Cas doesn’t need to have a hissy fit about it. Dean’s only trying to help the kid out. Not that he needs any help looking attractive, he’s got that covered. Dean’s train of thought slips entirely as his eyes focus on the image he turns around to find.

Standing next to Dean’s bed, wearing only a pair of plain blue boxers, looking extremely kissable, is Cas. He’s all pale skin and tight, defined calves and shoulders. Dean’s eyes follow the small line of hair that leads down from Cas’ navel and disappears under the waistband of his underwear.

Cas makes his way to Dean, picking up the pair of jeans Dean must have dropped when he caught sight of Cas. But once the jeans are in his possession, Cas doesn’t move away. Actually, Dean’s pretty sure Cas just took another step closer; their chests are almost touching. Cas leans in a bit more, and Dean’s absolutely positive that he is about to be kissed. But he was mistaken; instead, Cas gently shuts the open dresser drawer behind Dean. Dean releases the breath he must have been holding. Castiel smirks and walks back to his original position by the bed.

There’s a tight dryness in Dean’s throat that just isn’t going away. He tries clearing it. “Cas, I think I’m gonna go jump in the shower…D’you, um, need me to do you? _Shit_ , I mean do you need me to do anything for you? I could get you something if you want.”

“No…thank you, Dean.”

“Alright then.” Dean bites his lip, trying to distract himself from the gorgeous human being in front of him. He’s about to reach for the doorknob when the door swings open, hitting Dean in the face. He jumps back and brings a hand to his nose, feeling blood trickle over his top lip. “Fuck me.”

“Gladly.” Jo smiles at him, tipping Dean’s chin up with her finger and pulling his hand away to see the damage.

Behind him, Dean hears Cas laugh. “I’ll help.” Dean’s stomach does a flip.

Jo sighs impatiently. “What’s taking you two ladies so long? It’s already eight and I want to be at the party by nine.”

Cas pulls on a pair of jeans. “Dean was dressing me.”

“Are you sure? It looks like he was undressing you.”

“Shut up!” Dean shoves her playfully, still cupping his bleeding nose with one hand. “I’m gonna go shower and then we can leave.”

When he returns to his room, Cas is standing in front of the mirror, clad in Dean’s clothes. He pulls it off better than Dean thought he would.

“Cas, you’re like Pretty Woman,” Dean jokes.

Cas furrows his brow. “I don’t understand that reference.”

*****

The house is fifteen minutes from town, out in the country – far away enough to avoid any noise complaints, and close enough to town to get home tonight. It’s what Dean keeps referring to as “the awesomest party place.” It doesn’t really matter to Castiel. He’s just happy to be with people. It’s not every day he feels like he actually has friends.

Castiel follows Dean and Jo into a house that is roaring with activity and buzzing with music. The sound roots itself in everyone’s veins and pumps them back to life after the long school week. Everywhere Castiel turns his head he sees something happening.

After ten minutes, Jo points a dainty finger across the room at a dark-haired, handsome boy. “Michael King is looking at you.” She nudges him towards Michael. He stumbles a bit, running into a table. “Go talk to him.”

He isn’t given time to protest. Jo shoves him towards Michael as Dean is walking back over with their drinks. Dean leans into Jo and says something, but Castiel can’t hear them now, not over the music.

“Well, hello there, gorgeous. What’s your name?” Michael grabs Castiel’s wrist and pulls him closer. He hardly notices that they've started dancing. He’s still watching Dean’s reaction – his face has fallen dejectedly, like a child who's just lost sight of their parent.

It becomes harder to focus on Dean with Michael pressing up against him. Castiel tries his best to form words, somehow managing to get out an “I’m Castiel.”

“I’ve heard about you.” Michael leans in, letting his lips brush Castiel’s ear. “Everyone talks about this dreamy new junior who doesn’t even realize how fucking hot he is. God, what I would love to do to you.”

The blush creeps onto Cas’ cheeks involuntarily. Luckily, it's dark enough that no one will see. And no one notices as the two boys slip out of sight and into the fully-furnished basement. The room reeks of pot and moldy carpet, but it’s easy to ignore with Michael pressing him against a wall.

He has had sex before. Maybe not voluntarily, but he has. He wants to know what it’s like to be in control of his own body. To _want_ what is being given to him and to actually reciprocate it. Maybe the alcohol pumping through his system isn’t helping him make wise decisions, but right now, in this moment, he wants someone to fuck him senseless.

He wonders if this will hurt – not physical pain, but an emotional ache in the center of his chest. He hopes it does. There is something about being in control of his own pain, his own suffering, that makes life bearable.

There’s a room off to the side of the main area; somehow the two make it inside and away from everyone else. Michael hurriedly removes Castiel’s t-shirt and jeans, muttering compliments about his body, and removes his clothes too.

“I’m going to tie you up and make you beg for it,” Michael growls as he lifts Castiel’s arms above his head, pinning them there.

The words are too familiar and the position too memorable. Castiel is positive that Alastair’s the one biting his neck, pushing him against the wall, pinning his arms above his head. In that moment, Castiel is back in San Francisco. It’s happening all over again and he can’t fight back or save himself; Alastair always makes sure he can’t.

All at once, the room shrinks two sizes and Castiel can’t breathe. The words from Michael’s mouth have mixed with the air that Castiel breathes, and when he inhales, the words and air circle his lungs and constrict. At first, Michael is still kissing him eagerly, but then he backs away with the realization that Castiel is no longer kissing back. His knees buckle under him; thankfully, Michael catches him and lessens the fall a bit.

It doesn’t stop the descent, the feeling of having no control as Castiel starts losing more and more of himself. After being put down on the floor, Castiel can hear Michael yelling and rushing out of the room, leaving him alone.

He’s alone again, always alone. It will always come back to this. He lets out a bloodcurdling cry, but no one is listening. Why does it always come back to this? He wonders if he sinned in a past life, causing him to have such misfortune now. Perhaps he killed a man or two. That seems like a fair trade for all the pain he carries in his heart.

The ringing in his ears is annoying. Castiel curls in on himself, forming a ball with his body. His face is wet with tears, but someone wipes them away. Whoever it is keeps saying his name.

“Cas, you with me? Stay with me, buddy. You need to tell me what’s wrong.”

His sight comes back fairly quickly. Now Castiel can see, and Dean is looking down at him: a knight in a leather jacket and jeans. Then it’s dark again and Castiel doesn’t feel a thing.

*****

Dean isn’t sure what to do. There are people crowding outside the room, trying to get a look at what’s going on. For all they know it’s a fight, and fights are fun to watch. But this is Cas, passed out in his underwear on a basement floor. All Dean can do is carry the limp, unconscious boy and his clothes out to his car. Dean pushes through the crowd, trying his best not to trip while holding Cas in his arms and also managing to give the noisy, obnoxious crowd the finger.

Dean doesn’t need to find Jo; she left with some girls earlier, promising that she had a ride home. The Impala is near the end of the driveway. Just as Dean feels like he’s about to buckle under Cas’ weight, they reach the car and Dean successfully gets Cas inside. It’s freaking amazing that he made it here without stopping once, but Cas is still out of it. Dean slides into the driver's seat and pulls Cas across the bench so he sits loosely in the middle.

What the hell happened? Dean can’t figure it out for the life of him. His first thought was that Michael slipped something in Cas' drink. But that’s not likely; no matter how much of a scumbag Michael is, he would never do that.

Hesitantly, Dean wraps his arms around Cas, bringing the boy closer. He finds a half-empty water bottle on the floor and wets his hands before patting Cas’ face. The younger boy shouts and flails his arms, trying to get away.

“Don’t touch me, please, no more. _Please,_ ” Cas sobs, clutching his hands over his ears and drawing his knees up to his chest. “I’ve been good. Alastair, I’ve been a good boy. Please, don’t touch me.” The once hoarse, strong voice has turned into a pitiful whimper. Never in his seventeen years on this earth has Dean heard anyone sound more vulnerable than Cas does in this moment.

Dean doesn’t want him to freak out more than he already has. It seems like he’s having some kind of mental breakdown. Dean can’t think of a single comforting thing to say or do.

“It’s me, Cas. It’s Dean.”

Cas opens his eyes and for a few seconds they search wildly around the small space before settling on Dean. He looks away then, trying to stop shivering. “I’m cold.”

Dean immediately turns the car on and cranks up the heat. “Better?”

Cas nods, shifting away from Dean even though he is already pressed against the passenger door, and assumes his usual posture: back straight and head held high. It’s hard to believe he was crying only seconds ago.

“I thought I was okay. I didn’t expect to lose my…my shit like that.” Cas leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“Cas, who is Alastair? Was there another dude in the room besides Michael?”

“No…I can’t talk about that, Dean.” In a sudden frenzy, he clutches his head between his hands and tugs on his hair in a way that looks like it hurts, releasing a muffled scream between his legs.

Dean grabs at Cas’ hands and pulls them from his head. He squeezes them between his own and holds them still. “I’ll kill the son of a bitch. Cas, what’d he do?”

“I _can’t_.”

“Cas, hey buddy. Look at me, c’mon.” He coaxes Cas to meet his gaze, lifting the boy’s chin with his finger. “Do you trust me?”

It’s quiet for what feels like minutes, and Dean is wondering if he will ever get an answer when Cas sighs and looks down, ashamed. “Alastair was my last foster parent.”

The words fill the air, hanging there, slowly killing the last hope Dean had that maybe, just maybe this kid was a happy one.

“We gotta tell someone.”

“No.”

“Why not? This is serious.”

Cas’ quiet demeanor transforms into fear and rage and god knows what else. “You don’t understand! He’ll _kill me_ , Dean!” Cas exclaims angrily, gripping Dean’s shoulders so tightly he can feel it bruise. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Cas, I think we gotta tell _someone_.” Angrily, Dean pounds his fists against the steering wheel. “Sick sons of bitches like that go to jail for years! He can’t just get away with it.”

The other boy stares at Dean. His eyes are hazy with fear and alcohol, a deadly mix. “No! You have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone. They'll send me back to the hospital and I won’t see you ever again and then what will I do? I can’t go back, he'll kill me like all the others and then what will I be? I’ll be _dead_ , Dean. So, promise me!”

“I…I promise.”

Cas grabs a handful of Dean’s flannel, pulling their faces close together. “Swear to me.” His breath reeks of alcohol and Dean holds his breath.

“I swear.”

Cas releases Dean’s shirt and scrambles to open the door as he keels over and pukes onto the gravel of the driveway. Once he’s finished emptying his stomach, Cas wipes away the wetness on his cheeks and faces out the window.

Somehow Dean manages to get him upstairs into Dean’s bedroom. On the drive back, Cas didn’t say a word; he just kept staring out the window, silently crying and swallowing down his pain. Once or twice Dean almost reached out a hand to pull Cas to him, but he didn’t. That isn’t his place.

But right now, Cas really does need him. In the chaotic scene at the party, Dean hadn’t realized how goddamn drunk Cas is. There is no way in hell he could’ve taken Cas home to Ellen like this, so instead he drags the boy to his own room and tries to come up with a plan.

“You gotta shower. You smell bad, man. I can’t share a bed with a guy who smells like he got dragged through a dumpster.”

He tells Cas to go to the bathroom, but the boy is hardly able to stand up on a dry surface; wet tile won’t help his situation. That leaves Dean to carry him to the bathroom and get him ready for a shower. On his way, Dean sees his father standing at the end of the hallway, watching as Dean ducks into the bathroom with Cas.

“Cas, hey. I gotta take off your clothes for the shower. Alright?”

“Mm…” Cas hums, his eyes heavily lidded.

Reluctantly, Dean removes Cas’ shoes, t-shirt, and jeans, leaving him in his boxers. He rummages through the bathroom drawers for an unused toothbrush and squeezes some toothpaste on it before sticking it in Cas’ mouth.

“Brush your teeth.” By the way Cas lifts his arm and rolls his eyes, you’d think it was the hardest task in the world. Dean starts the shower and tries to figure out how in the world he’s supposed to do this. “Alright, c’mon. Let’s get you under the water.”

He takes the toothbrush from Cas and puts it in the sink before hoisting Cas up onto his feet. It feels like he is putting all his weight onto Dean’s shoulder as he reaches to pull down his boxers and clamber into the tiled stall. He grips the wall for balance and turns his face up to the shower head.

“You good? Can I go get you some clean clothes? I don’t wanna come back and find you on the floor with your skull split open.”

Cas nods and Dean tries not to stare at the boy’s long, naked body. Cas is vulnerable, he's trusting Dean, and he needs Dean to be a friend right now. So that is exactly what he will be.

When Dean returns with a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a loose white shirt he finds Cas sitting down in the shower letting the water rush over him in steady stream. The look on Cas’ face is peaceful, as if the water is washing away all his worries. Dean turns off the shower and gets his friend dried off and into fresh clothes.

Once the drunken boy is finally tucked into Dean’s queen-sized bed he relaxes. He goes downstairs to get a glass of much-needed water. He passes his dad on the couch as he makes his way to the kitchen. On his way back, John stops Dean.

“That boy is drunk off his ass,” John grumbles. “Were you drinking, too?”

“I had one drink. He’s having a rough night and needed a place to crash.”

“I don’t like his kind – always stirring up trouble.”

“What d’you mean by ‘his kind’?”

For the first time since the conversation started John looks at Dean.

“Homeless.”

*****

“Either I had a terrible nightmare, or last night actually happened…” Cas grumbles, shoving the sheets off of his body the next morning. “With a headache like this I’m pretty sure it was real.”

Dean looks up from the book he was reading to the boy lying beside him. “It was real.”

“Michael?”

“Real.”

“The car?”

“Real.”

For a long moment Cas doesn’t say anything, then he turns his head away from Dean and sighs heavily. There must be a lot on Cas’ mind. A secret like that isn’t something you should have to carry all by yourself.

“You can’t tell anyone, Dean.”

“I know.”

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Cas whispers, voice strained. “I would not have been able to handle going home.”

“That’s what friends do, right?” Dean tries to smile, patting Cas’ bare shoulder. “Listen, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

“Believe me, Dean. You don’t want to hear about it.”

Setting his book aside, Dean lies back down on his side, facing Cas. “You don’t deserve something like that. You don’t deserve any of it.” Slowly, Dean reaches out a hand and turns Cas’ head to face him. “You deserve something beautiful, and that…that ain’t beautiful.”

A tear slips out of the corner of Cas’ eye and falls onto Dean’s hand. Turning onto his side, Cas curls into Dean’s chest and sobs. Dean holds him, whispering happy thoughts. God, he wishes he could make it go away with a few comforting words and a hug, but this kind of thing doesn’t just go away. There’s nothing else for him to do; he can’t make it better, he can’t go back in time and erase it all, but he can be here when Cas needs a shoulder to cry on, because who doesn’t need a shoulder to cry on every once in a while?


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel tries opening his locker for the fifth time this morning. He can’t seem to grasp the left-right-left concept. He tries again and is unsuccessful, letting out an aggravated sigh. He spins around without looking and runs into someone, knocking them over in the process. He stumbles back, his body landing firmly against the lockers.

“What the hell?” The boy on the ground yells as he gets up and rushes towards Castiel. “What was that for?”

“It was an accident,” Castiel mutters. Castiel recognizes the boy as Gordon – one of Dean's teammates. “I didn’t mean to.”

Gordon grabs a handful of Castiel’s shirt, shoving him up against the locker. “Really, well, maybe you should apologize.” He looks Castiel over, recognition clouding his eyes. “I know you. You’re the fag who threw a bitch fit at the party last Saturday.”

“Fuck off.” Castiel glares at Gordon, shoving his forearms against the larger boy's chest. It catches Gordon off guard, but instead of releasing Castiel he tightens his grip on Castiel’s shirt, banging his head on the lockers behind him.

“What did you just say to—”

Castiel cuts him off. “Did I stutter?”

A fist slams into Castiel’s gut once, then twice. It feels good. It’s good when he needs something else to focus his mind on, something other than the thoughts and memories that torture him day and night.

Gordon throws Castiel to the floor. “I can make your life Hell. Remember that, faggot.” As if Gordon wants to make a point, Castiel receives a swift kick to his gut. The pain is bearable. It’s nothing life-threatening, that’s for sure.

A small crowd has formed and it parts as Dean pushes his way through. He looks down at Castiel and then at the retreating form of Gordon, already walking away down the hall.

“What happened?”

“We had a misunderstanding.”

He brushes himself off and offers Dean a weak smile before stumbling down the hall and into the bathroom. Castiel nearly falls to his knees when the pain becomes too much, but somehow Dean’s at his side, holding him up.

Dean helps him sit down on the cold tile floor. “I’m not a goddamn idiot, Cas. I know what Gordon is capable of. I mean, I play football with him for Christ’s sake.” Grumbling about Gordon under his breath, he unzips his backpack and pulls out a small bottle of aspirin. He kneels down beside Castiel and hands him the bottle before gesturing to his stomach. “Can I check to see how it looks?”

“Oh please, I’m no stranger to pain.”                        

But Dean just glares at him and Castiel gives a sharp nod before throwing back two pills and swallowing them dry. They feel lodged in his throat but he's paying more attention to Dean’s fingers skimming over his bare stomach. Dean pokes gently at freshly-formed blue circles as well as the older fading brown ones. A gentle finger traces over a line of pale yellow spots. “Who gave you these older bruises?”

“I did.”

Dean pulls his hand back. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Sometimes I need a little pain to forget.” Castiel looks down, unable to meet Dean’s eyes.

The older boy pulls down Castiel’s shirt. “You should be fine. Just a little sore. I’d take some more painkillers when you get home tonight, alright?” The chiming of the bell signals the beginning of the next period. “I need to get to class. Um, d’you want me to walk you to yours first?”

A little too quickly, Castiel shakes his head. “No, you don’t have to do that, Dean. I’ll be fine.”

Hesitantly, Dean sighs. “Call me later, okay? I want to know if you make it through the day.” With that said, Dean leaves the beaten boy on the cold tile floor. Alone.

Castiel is angry with the world for being so cruel, but there is nothing to do except curse the sky and damn it all. So he tells himself to be indifferent. He honestly likes the pain; it reminds him that he is still here on Earth, living and breathing and feeling. He doesn’t mind feeling _physically_ ; it’s the _emotional_ aspect he can’t handle. Day after day, Castiel forces himself to open his eyes and feel. One morning, maybe he won’t have to open his eyes.

*****

As soon as Dean gets to the field for practice, he finds Gordon and tackles him. They wrestle in the grass until Dean finally pins Gordon and gets a few punches in. Eventually, Uriel (the biggest player on the team) pushes through the crowd that's gathered to cheer the fight on.

“What the hell are you doing?” He yanks Dean off of Gordon. “This isn’t the wrestling team.”

“Castiel is my friend and I don’t _appreciate_ the way you treated him in the hall today.” Dean is seething; the anger is going to make him explode. He turns to look at Gordon.

Gordon wipes at his busted lip. “I dunno why you're even defending the guy! He’s a fag.”

Uriel takes a step towards Gordon. “Is that true?” Of course, the Bible geek would back up Gordon.

“Is what true?” Gordon turns his head and spits out some blood. “The guy is gay, no doubt about it. Him and that pretty boy, Michael, got it on at the party last weekend.” Gordon snickers. “Well, until he went home with Winchester.”

Dean clenches his teeth. “Shut up, Gordon!”

Gordon pushes Dean’s chest. “Make me.”

“If you insist,” Dean mutters, and right hooks Gordon’s jaw. Surprisingly, Gordon doesn’t fight back; instead, he raises his arms in surrender. Dean glares around at his teammates. “If you lay a finger on Castiel, I _will_ end you.”

The team is silent, all eyes trained on Dean. Raising his voice and clapping his hands, Gordon shouts, “Alright, let’s run through a few plays. Coach will be here any second and I don’t need a suspension.”

Everyone except Gordon and Dean head out onto the center of the field. Leaning in close, Gordon whispers, “I’m watching you, Winchester.”

*****

For the next few days, Castiel avoids Dean. He leaves for school early so Dean won't pass him on the drive to school. He takes longer routes to classes so he won't run into Dean in the halls. In math, he gets there just before class starts and leaves directly after it ends. Instead of eating lunch with Jo and the others, Castiel now sits in the library. Sometimes Dean stops by the Singers' after school, trying to catch Castiel, but he always misses him; he's smart enough to leave for a walk exactly at the time Dean arrives.

In all honesty, Castiel has no reason to be avoiding Dean. He just feels like he has to. Perhaps it’s because he’s embarrassed, or scared of what Dean must think of him after the party and the incident in the hall. Either way, Castiel can’t run much longer.

Dean catches up with him, grabbing a handful of tan trench coat as Castiel tries and fails to make a quick escape from Mr. Henricksen’s class.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“On a bender.”

“Very funny. Try again. Last time I saw you, you were…” Dean thinks about his word choices. “You looked like crap.”

Castiel shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.”

“What?”

Dean glares. “You better freaking stop avoiding me.”

Castiel pauses. “How did you know?”

“I’m not stupid.” Dean looks around the emptying classroom, before adding, “Come over later. It’s a Friday night. We can watch a movie.”

There’s no point in giving an actual response. Castiel holds an intense minute of eye contact with Dean before he turns away and heads to his next class.

Later that day, Castiel endures another painfully long “family” dinner.

“So, how was everybody’s day?” Bobby grunts out, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth. Some of it gets stuck in his beard; Ellen has to reach across the table to get it out for him. It’s all very loving and domestic, sickening even.

“Well, I have some interesting news. Today—” Jo starts.

Gabe cuts her off, sending a wink her way. “I got an A on my history project.”

Ellen reaches across the table to high-five Gabe. Bobby nods approvingly and everyone else at the table is smiling and patting his back. It’s all very odd in Castiel’s mind. It shouldn’t be that difficult to receive an A on a project that was simply slapping a few photos on a poster board and bringing it into class.

Once the chatter about Gabe dies down, Bobby turns to Cas. “Tonight marks two months that you’ve been with us, Castiel.”

“Oh, that’s nice, I suppose.” Castiel clears his throat and rolls a pea from one end of his plate to the other with his fork. He wonders if he should say something else, maybe try sounding a little happier. “I like it here very much.”

Anna snorts out a laugh. “That makes one of us.”

“Could you be nice for once, Anna?” Adam sets down his glass of water in exasperation and everyone stops eating to look up. He rarely ever speaks. “I go to school and put up with assholes like you all day and when I come back here I want to enjoy my time.”

“Both of you watch it,” Bobby snaps, glancing between the two of them. “The two of you can do the dishes tonight.”

After the meal, it's Castiel's night to clear off the table. Once his chore is finished, he finds Ellen perched on the couch, searching for the right channel on the TV.

“Dean asked me to come over.”

“Go on, then. He’s probably waitin’ on you.” Castiel turns to leave, but Ellen grabs his wrist. “Dean’s a sweet boy. He just doesn’t always know what he wants.”

Why Ellen decided to tell Castiel this, he doesn’t know. He kisses her cheek and leaves.

He needs to relax, to get his mind off of the party and all that it dredged up in his mind. It’s been days since he slept through the night. Sometimes, if Castiel does something to take his mind off the dull pain centered in his chest, he can sleep for an hour or so. He'll do what he has to, even if that means etching the tops of his thighs with a pocket knife or pinching himself until his skin is dotted with blue and purple circles.

Dean’s eyes bring him out of the clouds of thought and back onto the Winchesters' front stoop, arm still raised to knock. The older boy steps aside and gestures for Castiel to enter the home.

“Hey, Cas. I didn’t think you’d come. We’re almost done with dinner.”

The two move into the dining room where Dean’s family is seated.

“Who’s this?” Dean’s mother’s smile is warm. “Are you Castiel? Dean’s been talking about you.”

“A little _too m_ uch,” John Winchester mumbles.

Sam lets out a laugh, teasing his brother. “They thought ‘Cas’ was Dean’s new _girlfriend_.”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean grumbles, punching his brother in the arm.

The younger brother rolls his eyes. “Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean mutters, turning for the door.       

“Dean Winchester, apologize to your brother please.” Mary Winchester crosses her arms over her chest.

“I’m sorry, Samantha.”

John lets out a frustrated sigh. “Dean, just get out of here before you upset your mother.”

But Castiel can’t help noticing the way John is eyeing him. He also sees the way Dean stands taller, fixing his chin upward, when his father speaks to him.

There isn’t time for Castiel to say goodbye to Dean’s parents; he’s being dragged by the elbow up some stairs and into Dean’s room in a matter of seconds. Dean cautiously closes the bedroom door behind him, eyes trained on Castiel. He’s not sure, but Castiel thinks he sees _want_ in Dean’s eyes. They stare at each other. Castiel edges closer until their chests are almost touching.

“Hey,” Dean whispers, their lips close but not close enough. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing…okay.”

Castiel can’t explain his acute need to be with Dean. With Dean, Castiel isn’t worried about getting hurt. For some inane reason, Castiel has decided to trust this boy that he barely knows with one of the worst secrets he has to keep. Right now, Dean Winchester is the only thing Castiel is certain of, and for the life of him, he cannot give one logical reason why.

Slowly, Castiel crowds Dean against the door, pressing their bodies flush against one another. “Dean, I’d like to kiss you if that is okay with you.” He slides his hand down Dean’s arm and tangles their fingers together, enjoying the feeling of calloused hands against his  skin.

“I…I’d be okay with that,” the older boy stammers, staring at Castiel’s lips. His eyes are wild and scared. “I mean, my parents are downstairs and I’m str—”

Castiel rolls his eyes and grips the back of Dean’s neck, bringing their mouths together in one smooth motion. Dean lets Castiel lead him. His lips feel dry and a little chapped, but pliant. Dean opens his mouth with a soft sound and their tongues slide together in a way that radiates through Castiel’s core. They break apart for air and Castiel takes the chance to press open-mouthed kisses down Dean’s jaw and onto his collarbone. Underneath his lips, he can feel Dean’s chest vibrate as he lets out a low moan.

Castiel shoves a leg between the older boy’s thighs before returning his attention to Dean’s mouth, swallowing the urgent noise that escapes his lips. “Hush, your family is home,” he whispers. He feels Dean’s hands finally move from their rigid spot by his sides to the hem of Castiel’s shirt, sliding up the planes of Castiel’s chest.

“I don’t know why we didn’t do this sooner,” Dean growls, grabbing Castiel’s hips and flipping them around so that Castiel is pressed against the door. “I’ve been wanting to do this—” he bites down onto Castiel’s neck, eliciting a sharp squeak from him “—for months.”

Castiel pulls Dean’s face back to his, craving the taste of him. Their lips meet again, rougher this time. Taking his time, Castiel licks into Dean’s mouth with the tip of his tongue, lowering his hands down to Dean’s ass to feel the curve of it. Groaning, Dean wiggles his hips against Castiel’s, running his tongue across the roof of the younger boy’s mouth.

Slowly, Dean guides them away from the door and to his bed, where they were supposed to watch a movie. Dean’s knees hit the edge of the mattress and he falls back, grabbing Castiel’s hips and bringing him down too. With gentle fingers, Castiel slips Dean out of his Henley and kisses his way down the tanned, toned stomach.

They don’t hear Sam coming up the stairs or walking down the hall, but they do hear the door open without warning, and Dean pushes Castiel off of him and off of the bed.

“Um, Dean, what’re you guys doin’?” Sam clears his throat, staring at Dean’s neck – most likely at the hickey that has now bloomed there.

“We were wrestling…” Castiel offers, as soon as he realizes that Dean can’t form words, let alone a sentence in his state of complete shock.

Sam continues to shift his eyes between the two before suddenly looking over his shoulder and shouting, “Coming, mom!”

“But your mother didn’t call you—”

Slamming the door behind him, Sam leaves.

*****

After Cas goes home, Sam tries to ask Dean a few questions. Receiving nothing back except a few shrugs and a grunt, he decides to just leave Dean alone.

Sam isn’t an idiot; he knows exactly what he walked in on. To be honest, Sam’s always known Dean was a little gay. Can someone be a _little_ gay?

Dean’s had plenty of girlfriends, all of whom he'd seemed to have genuine interest in. And over the years, as his brother’s interest in girls grew, Sam had noted his growing interest in boys, too. He'd always wondered who would be the first boy to really capture his brother’s attention.

He’s happy it’s Cas, even though he hardly knows the guy. Secretly, Sam hopes it lasts so he can get to know Cas better, because this seems like the first decent pairing he’s seen his brother in. Cas might even do Dean some good.

*****

Jo slams her bedroom door behind her, offering Dean a purple beanbag to sit on.

“What’s the problem?”

Dean runs a hand through his hair. “Jo, I kissed Cas.”

“About time.”

“What do you mean ‘about time’?”

Jo grabs a brush and pulls it through her blonde hair. She gathers it up and twists it into a bun. “Oh come on, Dean. It was pretty damn obvious you two were dying to get at each other. I mean, you guys mentally undress each other every time you meet.”

“Shut up.”

Jo glares at him. “I’m not playing that game, Winchester. You make it sound like a problem. This isn’t really a problem.”

“Jo, that’s the thing, it is a problem. If my dad found out about this…” He drops off, not wanting to finish the statement. He crosses the room to turn on her radio, flipping the dial until he settles on a rock station.

“Then make sure he doesn’t find out about it,” Jo sighs, standing from her perch on her bed to pull him into a hug. “You like him, Dean. You’ve liked him for a while. Do something for yourself for once; you can’t let your dad dictate your life forever.”

“It’s not that easy, Jo. I have to think about the team, too. If it got out at school, I could get kicked off the team and then I’d lose all the scholarships I’ve applied for. It’s too damn risky.”

“He likes you.” Jo says softly. “I can tell.”

“How?”

She reaches for his arm, and pulls him to sit down beside her. “He talks about you a lot. When you’re around, he never stops looking at you. It’s like he’s taking mental notes on how you breathe or something. I don’t get it, but he does, Dean.” She takes a deep breath. “He doesn’t have much, or anything, but I think for once he feels like he could.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Ask him out.”

“I’ve never been with a guy before. Is it different than a girl?”

Jo snorts a laugh. “Well, boys tend to have penises, whereas girls don’t typically—”

“You know what I mean.”

She laughs, patting his knee. “There isn’t going to be a difference. You like him. That’s all that matters. Seriously, Dean, who gives a shit if you like dick?”

Dean groans, “Don’t say it like that!”

She turns her body to look him in the eye. “I’m being serious here. You can like whoever you want, no matter what body parts they have. I’m not gonna judge you, it’s your life.”

“But my parents—”

“Screw your parents, Dean!”

“I can’t just do that, okay?” Dean curls forward, resting his face in his hands exhaustedly. “I’ve always liked girls…”

“Sometimes you surprise me with how easily you can lie to yourself.”

There aren’t words to argue that. Quietly, she mumbles, “c’mere,” and pulls him to her. Resting his head on her shoulder, she says, “I think you deserve to have this one thing, Dean. You give so much of yourself up to make everyone else happy. Just do this one thing for yourself.”

“I’ll try.”

“No, don’t try. Just do.”


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel is lying on his bed, thinking about kissing Dean for the hundredth time this week. It’s beginning to concern him. He can’t even be around Dean without staring at his lips the entire time. They’re so plump and pink and perfectly capable of being kissed for hours and hours and hours…

 “Castiel, Dean’s at the door for you,” Ellen shouts from downstairs.

He flies down the stairs and finds Dean standing on the front porch wearing a button-up white shirt and one of his better pairs of jeans.

At the sight of him, Cas laughs. “What are you all dressed up for? Do you have a date or something?” Dean raises a brow at that and Castiel panics. “Oh shit, you have a date? Do you need to borrow a jacket or something? You know I don’t have anything. That was stupid of you to come here. Honestly Dean, I don’t—“

“Hey, take a deep breath.” Dean steps forward; grabbing Castiel’s face in his hands, but awkwardly moves them to his shoulders in a friendly manner and looks around the street to see if anyone saw them. “What are you doing today?”

“Nothing.”

Dean grins. “Okay, then get dressed, Casanova, we are going out on the town.”

After having changed, Castiel shuts the passenger door behind him and turns to Dean. “So, what are we doing today?”

 “It’s a surprise.” Dean winks and the engine roars to life. Every few seconds Dean glances nervously at Castiel.

Cas notices a stop sign and yells, “Dean, pay attention to the road!”

“Shit, sorry. I just really want to…never mind. I’ll pay attention.”

“What could be so important that you can’t keep your eyes on the road?”

Dean glances over again and pulls off to the side of the road. He puts the car into park and slides across the seat.

“This,” Dean whispers, as if it is a secret that needs to be concealed. This time it’s not rushed. Their lips unite in one languid motion and it’s tender yet pressing, leaving both boys breathless when they break apart.

“Do you do this to girls, too?”

Dean checks over his shoulder and pulls back onto the road. “Do what?”

 “Charm them?” Castiel looks out his window, watching the other cars pass as Dean speeds up.

“I didn’t know I was being charming.” Dean smiles cockily.

“You’re always charming.” Castiel listens to the roar of the engine. “This is a nice car.”

“You like her? My dad gave her to me.”

“Do your parents know about this?” Castiel asks. The answer is obvious, but Castiel feels he needs to ask anyways.

“Know what?”

“That you’re gay?”

Dean’s jaw clenches and relaxes. “I’m not – they don’t need to know.”

Castiel doesn’t push any further. He doesn’t need to.

Dean turns on the radio and sings along to Led Zeppelin. Castiel can tell they are heading to San Francisco. They joke around for another thirty minutes until they finally pull into the parking lot of the aquarium. It’s packed.  

Inside there are walls upon walls of ocean with beautiful sea creatures. They swirl and twist in the salty water, zooming past the glass wall and going on about their circles, well aware that the this ocean only goes so far.

“Sharks are awesome.” Dean’s eyes are wide with amazement as he watches the huge fish swim around the tank. “Let’s go check out the tunnel.” He grabs for Castiel’s hand and leads him that way. “My mom used to take us to the Monterey Aquarium when she could. Sam loved watching all the fish.”

There are mothers and children staring at the two boys. A man and a woman whisper violently between each other. The man speaks up, “Excuse me. Could you two not do that here?” The man gestures to their entwined fingers. “There are children present.”

Dean releases Castiel’s hand immediately. “I’m sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to offend.”

 “There are plenty of other places in the city for your kind to do that,” the woman adds, turning her nose up.

Castiel scoffs and wraps an arm around Dean’s waist, pulling him close. He plants a firm kiss onto the taller boy’s cheek, but Dean jerks away. Flustered, Castiel replies. “Excuse you, but this is our first date and I would very much like to enjoy it without you two telling us what we can and cannot do.”

The woman points a finger at him. “I might have to talk to security about this.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Why don’t you do that?”

The man mutters, “Save yourselves and accept God into your life. Or you will both burn in Hell for such a sin.”

“I guess we'll see you there,” Castiel pats the man on the shoulder; he cringes at the touch – as if being gay is a disease – and takes his two children by the hand, leading them out of the tunnel.

 “You’d think people wouldn’t be such prudes. I mean, it’s 1996. When will it not be a problem?” Dean takes a step away from Castiel, out of his reach. Castiel tries to grab for Dean’s hand but the boy shifts further away, looking up at the fish swimming above his head.

 “You’re scared.”

Dean spins around; arms spread wide. “Look around. They don’t want us here, not together. And this is San Francisco, Cas! It’s the kingdom of gays or something like that and I can’t even hold your hand in public here.” Castiel takes the time to watch Dean, with the shadows of blue light shifting across his face. Dean isn’t looking at him; he’s looking up, still watching the fish swim overhead. It’s not difficult to notice the catch in Dean’s throat when he speaks or the way his eyes look a little more watery than usual. Castiel never thought that Dean Winchester could even conceive an emotion as awful as fear. It just seemed impossible to him.

Castiel places a gentle hand on the back of Dean’s neck. He brings Dean closer until their noses touch. Dean forces out a shaky breath and rests his forehead against Castiel’s, as though it had become difficult to hold up his head.

“But I want you here with me.”

Castiel searches Dean’s face before pressing his lips to Dean’s .They kiss in the aquarium’s tunnel, underneath the makeshift sea. For a moment, everything is calm and beautiful, but only for a moment before Dean pushes Castiel away.

“I can’t do this.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously, looking down at the floor to avoid Castiel’s eyes. “Let’s get outta here.”

They walk along the piers for an hour, until Dean says they should head home and Castiel knows the date was a bust.

“You promised me dinner.” Castiel plucks at his sleeve as Dean drives back home.

“We’re going to a diner at the next stop.”

Dean stays true to his promise, pulling into the empty parking lot of a diner that looks as if it belongs on Route 66. They hustle inside and slide into a booth.

A pretty, brunette waitress comes to help them. “Hey there stranger, haven’t seen you in a while.”

Dean looks up. “How are you doing Penny?”

“I’m good, but I’m still waiting on that date you promised me.” She winks at him and looks to Castiel. “So what can I get you boys today?”

“The usual for me.” Dean slides his unopened menu to Penny.

Castiel closes his menu. “I’ll have the cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake please.”

Penny jots down his order. “Alrighty, I’ll be back with that in a bit.”

Dean watches her walk away, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Castiel drums his fingers on the table. He has nothing to say. Dean has obviously given up on him, so what’s the point of trying? It’s time to throw in the towel and go home.

“Sorry about today,” Dean says, finally. “It didn’t go the way I thought it would.”

“It’s fine.” Castiel tries to smile. “It’s all fine.”

They eat in silence. Eventually, Castiel summons enough nerve to glance up from his plate to see Dean mindlessly pushing his food all over his plate with the tip of his fork. It hurts, not because Dean turned him down, but rather because now they can’t get back to that previous point of friendship. It just won’t be the same, and Castiel had finally started to feel like he belonged somewhere—to someone.

When they get into the car to head home Dean doesn’t start the engine. He just sits there and stares out the windshield. The fluorescent lights of the diner cast a pale glow into the parking lot. A couple that was eating a few booths away from them exits the diner and walk to their car, hand in hand.

“Dean, are you alright?”

Dean peeks over at Castiel and lets out a groan as he rests his head on the steering wheel. They’ve been sitting in the car for over five minutes.

“I screwed this entire date up,” Dean mutters. “I really like you, Cas. You’re funny and hot and every time you smile my stomach does this weird flip thing. But you’re right.”

“Right about what?”

“I’m scared. I’m freaking terrified about what people think of me.” Dean huffs out a laugh. “Then you come along and give no shits whatsoever about what people think.”

“Why worry about what everyone thinks of you when you only need your own approval?”

Castiel glances out his window, feeling sick. He doesn’t even like himself, so why is he offering Dean advice? Right now, it all seems so pointless. He’s been waiting for Dean to connect the dots; all the little reasons why he doesn’t care what others think can trace right back to the fact that he already has the lowest possible opinion of himself.

“I’m still sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

And it probably isn’t all fine. It’s all absolutely terrible and Castiel knows it. Nothing is ever fine.

Dean sits up. “You keep saying that but –“

Castiel stretches across the bench, pushing Dean against his seat to kiss him.

“But it really is okay. Next time will be better.”

“Next time?”

A breathy laugh escapes from his chest. “Our next date.”

“You’re awesome.” Dean kisses Castiel, cupping Castiel’s cheek. One kiss leads to two and two leads to three, it doesn’t take long for the boys to be completely focused on the movement of lips and tongues and hands. Obviously Dean isn’t ready to end the date and Castiel doesn’t really feel the need to go home just yet either. Dean breaks away and trails sloppy kisses down Castiel’s jaw, “What time do you need to be home?”

“Eleven at the latest.” Castiel has moved his way down to Dean’s neck and is sucking roughly just above his collarbone. He wants to mark Dean up with blue and purple bruises. Dean releases a soft moan under Castiel’s touch and he slides his hand up Dean’s thigh, squeezing gently as Dean takes off his jacket. While Dean is struggling to unbutton his shirt, Castiel inches his hand farther up Dean’s leg and takes advantage of the new expanse of skin the shirt was once concealing. With his other hand he shoves the shirt off of one shoulder and swirls a tongue around one of Dean’s nipples, then does the same to the other. Beneath him, Dean wiggles in the seat and lets out uneven, sharp breaths.

“Do you want to move to the backseat? There’s more room back there.” Dean’s hands are quick to work off Castiel’s coat and button-up.

The words aren’t harmless. They’re loaded. They are the expectation of something more than what Castiel is able to give. He really isn’t sure what to do. The whole Michael fiasco proved to Castiel that he can’t handle that kind of contact – that kind of intimacy.

Hesitantly, Castiel pulls back. “Dean…I don’t know if I can –“

“You don’t have to. I’m not asking you to lay it all out on the line here, Cas.” Moving in close, Dean brings his lips to Cas’ ear and swirls his tongue around the earlobe. “All I’m asking is to get a little closer.”

“Oh…oh, okay.”

The two scramble into the backseat, Dean pushing Castiel down onto the bench and sliding between his spread legs.

“I’ve never done anything with a guy before.” Dean whispers low against Castiel’s ear. It sounds so vulnerable coming out of the older boy’s mouth. Never in his life would Castiel have guessed he would see Dean so vulnerable and open in one day, it just seemed unrealistic.

As if trying to guide him, Castiel grabs Dean’s hips and lifts his own to grind against his. Experimentally, Dean rolls his hips once and then twice, forcing a sound out of them both.

He can feel Dean’s fingers fumble with the zipper of his jeans. He isn’t ready for this. He doesn’t want to spoil it all just yet. If it were any other boy who could just give Castiel that tingle and pinch of satisfaction and recklessness, that microscopic pain that starts in his lungs and spreads to his heart and legs and fingertips... But Castiel pushes Dean’s hand away. Dean is not any other boy. This is entirely different. Castiel isn’t just using Dean to spark his internal turmoil. No, Dean is Castiel’s chance at being  _okay_.

“Sorry, I just thought that maybe... Did I remind you of him? I mean, we don’t have to, I’d totally understand Cas. It is the first date and I know that Ali–“

“Don’t say his name!” Cas yells, louder than he expected. Panicking, he pushes Dean off of him and sits upright. In surrender, he hangs his head between his knees, trying to will away the fear. “I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

He can feel Dean’s presence beside him, unsure. Dean edges closer and kisses Castiel’s shoulder. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. I should’ve waited.”

How funny to hear those words, because he used to be everything that was wrong with the world and more. Now, he is the boy who should be,  _could be_  okay.

Dean rubs small circles on his back. “I don’t want to pressure you, Cas. That’s the last thing I want to do.”

“Okay.” His voice is too shaky. Castiel wishes he could be stronger, more confident. But confidence has always eluded him, and now here he is, lying weak and broken in the back of a beautiful boy’s car.

Dean’s free hand brushes back Castiel’s hair. “I really don’t want to screw this up.” Castiel rests his head on Dean’s shoulder and breathes in Dean’s smell. Careful not to scare Cas any more, Dean presses a quick kiss to the top of the younger boy’s head. “All you ever have to do is say no and I won’t ever ask why.”

*****

Dean doesn’t get home until a little past midnight, which is over an hour past his curfew. Trying his best not to wake his parents, he sneaks in through the back door that goes into the kitchen. All the lights are off, but as soon as the door clicks behind him, the light switches on to reveal an extremely pissed off John Winchester seated at the kitchen table.

“You’re late.”

“I was in the city.”

“Who were you with?”

Should he? No, probably not. “I was with Jo.”

John sets down his book and glares at Dean. “Don’t lie to me, son. Jo came by earlier to work on a project with Sam. _Who_ were you with?”

“I was out with some friends.”

John shoves back his chair and pulls the collar of Dean’s shirt aside, revealing the hickey just above his collarbone. “And  _friends_  do that to you? Where the hell were you?” The stench of liquor rolling off of John’s breath is strong, Dean wonders if he was out all night too.

“Let go of me!” Dean raises his voice and pushes John away. “Why d’you wanna know?”

“Because I’m your father!”

John isn’t the typical drunk. He’s always been an angry drunk, causing fights in bars, abusing his wife, and occasionally, getting into situations that could hurt himself.

“Castiel and I went out and met some city girls. It got interesting, end of story.”

John crosses his arms over his chest. He’s radiating rage, the fact that he doesn’t have control of this miniscule part of Dean’s life drives him insane. “I don’t like that boy. He’s trouble. Besides, I thought you were seeing that nice girl Lisa.”

“She didn’t exactly keep my interest.” Dean pauses to glance into the living room. “You don’t know him.”

“Well, I’m your father and I don’t want you hanging around people like –“

“Dean, you’re home.” Mary stands in the doorway of the kitchen, her robe wrapped tightly around her. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get to bed?”

Dean looks back at his father, who glares at Mary. They're simply postponing what is to come and Dean knows it. He pushes past his dad and kisses his mother’s cheek. Upon seeing the hickey she sighs and mutters, “Just go to bed Dean…” her hand brushing over the purple spot of skin.

As Dean heads upstairs he can hear them arguing, then a smacking noise and the angry grumble of the usual “dumb bitch” followed by the quiet whimper of his mother. At the top of the stairs Sammy stands, wearing a ratty old t-shirt that used to be Dean’s and some boxers. He glances at Dean before looking past him and down the stairs.

“Are they fighting again?”

 “It’s nothing big.” Reassuringly, he ruffles Sammy’s hair. “C’mon let’s go to bed.”

“Dean, I _know_.”

“No, you don’t.” Christ, he sounds defensive. This is Sammy, his kid brother who he is supposed to be able to tell every damn thing to. “You can’t.”

Sam takes a step forward and hardens his tone. “Dean, I know that you and Cas went on a date. I know what happened the other night and I’m pretty sure mom and dad are getting a similar idea.”

Dean chances an uncertain glance at his little brother.

“Dad is going to kill me.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam whines. “We’re going to be late for church. Mom says to hurry up.”

“I can’t find my stupid tie.”

“Go without one.”

Dean stops rummaging through his dresser to glare over at Sam. Is he joking? Dean _has_ to wear a tie. Mom will _kill_ him if he doesn’t. Doesn’t Sam realize this is _church_? Dean needs to look clean-cut.

“You know I have to wear one. It ain’t an option, Sammy.”

Sam huffs. “Borrow one of mine.”

“Your ties are stupid.”

“Dammit Dean, just borrow my green one!”

From downstairs Mary shouts, anger evident in her tone, “Did I just hear you curse, Samuel Winchester? It is the Lord’s day!”

“Sorry, mom, Dean’s testing my patience,” Sam shouts back.

Dean slams his dresser drawer. “Fine, get me your stupid green tie.”

Within minutes the family of four is crammed into Mary’s mini-van, heading to First Baptist Church on the other side of town.

Dean stares out the window, watching the town pass as they drive. Maybe he’ll spontaneously burst into flames for stepping onto holy ground because he’s gay.

_How funny._

He isn’t sure, really. Dean’s never been sure about anything. Everything he’s ever done has been an act of impulse, a feeling that he just followed. Kissing Cas was gut instinct, that feeling of want he’s been hiding away for far too long. Now he isn’t sure what he wants.

They pull up to the church and make their way in, saying hello to neighbors and friends from town. Dean catches sight of Ellen and the foster kids lined up three pews from the front. The Winchesters take a seat on the other side of the aisle, four pews back.

The service starts and Dean knows it’ll be hell. He really doesn’t like church. It’s a bunch of hypocrites gathering together to bash on anyone who chooses to be different. But it’s 1996 and Mary believes that religion is important to society and to her boys’ lives. She would never let them skip out on a single day of church, even if they were coughing up blood.

He doesn’t know why his mother insists on it. If John had his way, they wouldn’t even utter God’s name unless it was in vain.

Dean chances a glance at his father, who seems to have zoned out. Mary is following every word the pastor says. Sam is looking wistfully to the left, most likely making googly-eyes at Jessica.

Dean scoffs and picks at a stray thread on the ugly green tie Sam let him borrow. It was Dean’s first tie but Sam got it as a hand-me-down when Mary bought Dean two new ones, which Dean can’t find for the life of him.

The pastor Richard King – Michael and Lucifer’s father – stands at the front of the church, ranting on about sins and being forgiven and following the heavenly plan that God has created for you and all this other crap. Dean wonders what the pastor would do if he discovered that one of his sons likes to suck dick and the other one is addicted to cocaine. But hey, some things are just better left unsaid.

The service goes into hymns and Dean sings along reluctantly. Finally, after an hour of pious bullshit, the service ends and Dean heads outside.

“Dean!” Jo shouts, making her way through the crowd.

She looks so pretty in her navy blue lace church dress. To be honest, Dean’s always had a bit of a crush on her. And he’s pretty sure she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel the same about him.

“Hey.” Dean smiles and leans in to hug her.

“My mom wants to know if your family is doing Thanksgiving with us this year. She isn’t sure how many turkeys to buy.”

Dean recalls mentioning it to his mom. “Yeah, we are. My mom said she’d make pie and stuffing.”

“Okay, I’ll let my mom know!” She turns on her heels and struts away.

“Is it a Winchester cherry pie? I’d like a taste of that.” Cas saunters over.

“Jeez Cas, lower your voice, would you? We’re at church. At least try to behave yourself,” Dean mutters, smiling and waving at Mrs. Anderson from down the street. “Hi, Mrs. Anderson! How’s the husband?”

She shuffles over with her cane. “He has a cold and couldn’t make it to church today. His truck is making that sound again, though. He wants you to have a look at it, dear.”

“Alright, have him phone me and I’ll come over this week for you.”

“You’re a sweetheart! I’ll let you know, Dean. Bye-bye!”

Cas leans in closer to Dean, their arms brushing. “I didn’t pay much attention to the service. God forbid anyone knows what I was actually thinking about.”

“I swear if you keep talking like that you’re going straight to Hell.”

Cas’ face finally breaks into a grin. “You know that I am only joking?”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest, refusing to look at Castiel. But all Dean can think about is how dorky Cas looks in his ill-fitting suit. It's obviously not his – probably one of the many items left behind by the foster kids that have been through the Singers’ home.

“Hi, Castiel.” Mary smiles. “Did you enjoy the service?”

Cas nods. “I found it inspiring.”

“The Pastor is Mr. King, Michael and Lucifer’s father. I always found it odd they named their child Lucifer.” Mary rambles on, straightening Dean’s tie and flattening a stray hair.

“Well, Lucifer was an angel.”

Mary beams. “I guess you're right.” She turns to Dean. “Okay, we'd better get going. What are you heading off to do today, Castiel?”

“Nothing really, I’m going to take a nap, I think.”

Dean knows what’s coming next. It was just a matter of time.

“Oh, well, I think Sam and Dean are heading out to surf later this afternoon. Maybe you should join them.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You aren’t.”

“I don’t have a board.”

“I have four,” Dean counters.

“I’ve never been fond of water…”

“Everyone is going, Cas.”

Hesitantly, Cas nods. “Okay, let’s go.”

*****

“Cas, c’mon, get in.” Dean waves impatiently from the water, waist deep and waiting for Cas to follow; it doesn’t look like it will happen anytime soon. “Don’t be such a wimp!”

Castiel shakes his head and sets down the surfboard he'd borrowed from Dean. “I’d much rather just sit here and watch. Go. Sam has already started!” He points to the youngest, who is already riding a large wave.

“Cas, I’m about to come back up on that beach and carry you out here.”

“I dare you to, Winchester!” Jo shouts from behind Cas. She’s settled higher up on the beach, reading a book, in sweats and a baseball cap.

Beside her, Gabe shouts in encouragement. “Do it, Dean! Sweep Cassie off his feet.”

“Bite me, Gabe.”

Cas glares back at Gabe, who only winks. Dean takes the moment to make his way back up to the beach and tackle Cas to the ground. He holds him down and growls low in his ear, “Get in the water.” Grabbing Cas’ hands, he pins them to the sand. Beneath him, Cas wiggles, their hips slotted together.

“I can’t when you’re on top of me like this.”

Dean lessens his grip on Cas’ wrists and stands up. He coaxes him into the water and they paddle out to where Sam is riding a small wave. Cas keeps complaining about how cold the water is and refuses to take a piss in his wet suit even though it’ll warm him up.

“Don’t be such a freaking prude, Cas. Everyone does it!” Dean huffs as he watches a wave coming into view. He starts to paddle towards it. “C’mon, let’s catch this one.”

Somewhere between standing up on the board and trying to find his balance, Cas falls into the water, but Dean doesn’t notice as he rides it out, enjoying the salty spray hitting his cheeks. He only realizes that Cas is gone – still under the water – when Jo starts screaming at them.

Sam reaches the drowning boy first; he quickly dives down and retrieves the limp body. With Dean’s help, Sam manages to lift Cas onto one of the surfboards.

“Is he breathing?” Dean panics, reaching a hand out to check Cas’ pulse. It’s slow and weak, but there. Dean’s hand trembles as he pulls it away to caress Cas’ face, looking anxiously at his younger brother. “Oh fuck, Sam. How long was he under?”

“I’m not sure. A minute, maybe two tops.”

“Shit, oh god.” Dean grips the surfboard Cas is laying on and he pumps his legs beneath the water’s surface in a steady rhythm, propelling them towards shore. It takes a few minutes to get back to the beach – far too long for it to be safe.

Dean picks Cas up, carries him out of the water, and drops him onto the sand. On instinct, Dean goes through the motions. He pumps his palms in the center of Cas’ chest and fixes the boy’s slack jaw so that he can blow methodical breaths into Cas’ lungs. Five times, that’s all it takes. Five times and Cas is coughing up salty water and sucking in massive amounts of air. Dean stands, bringing his arms up to rest on the top of his head so that he can breathe too. He must have been holding his breath. He turns around and takes a few steps away, telling himself not to get angry, to stay calm.

Through the coughing fit, Cas chokes out, “I can’t swim very well.”

Turning around, Dean snaps. “Well, fuck, Cas. You could’ve said something.”

“Didn’t think…”

In a furious haze, Dean shouts, “Damn right you didn’t freaking think. Jesus Christ, this could’ve ended with you in a body bag.”

 _How could someone be so careless?_ Dean thinks. This beautiful freaking boy with blue eyes the color of shattered glass and a heart that is too bruised to be worth saving, but he is trying to save it anyway. This imperfect, gorgeous human being who just needs someone – something – stable in his life. This soaking wet teenage orphan sitting in the sand who has enough damn secrets to last him a lifetime just doesn’t freaking know when to stop hurting and let Dean in. That’s all Dean wants him to do. Just let him in.

Sam steps in front of Dean, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. “Dean, calm down. He’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Cas mutters, standing to unzip his wet suit and pull down the upper half, letting it hang around his hips.

“That was just reckless, man.” Looking away, Dean cards a hand through his wet hair, wishing that he didn’t care so much about this kid. This kid that could have been put anywhere, literally _anywhere_ , but just so happened to be put right across the street from Dean Winchester. Thanks, God, as if you didn’t make it clear enough already.

Dean can’t explain it; the way he feels about Cas is so protective it scares the shit out of him. Maybe it’s because Dean knows Cas doesn’t have anyone, no one to look after him, to care, or to cry if something were to happen to this wild and careless boy. That’s pretty freaking sad, if you think about it.

“I think I’d like to go home,” Cas mumbles, getting to his feet. “Could you take me home, Dean?”

“Sure, sure.” He exhales violently, throwing his hands to his sides in frustration. He looks to Jo. “You okay to take the rest of them home?”

“I don’t mind.” She looks over at Cas, who has already started the trek back to the car. “Make sure he’s okay, will you?”

“I will.”

He jogs to catch up with Cas, board and towel under his arm and keys in his other hand. They settle into the car without a word, the silence drowning out all other noise from outside.

Quietly, Dean chances a glance at Cas. “Why do you do this shit?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I’m fucking talking about, Cas!” Trying to rein in his anger, Dean takes a deep breath. “You just don’t care…”

“It was before I got here,” he mumbles, meeting Dean’s gaze. “Life just stopped seeming important.”

“It’s pretty damn important, Cas. You can’t just keep doing this shit like you think it’s not going to hurt or you think it’s totally fucking okay to ruin yourself like this.”

“I’m already ruined Dean! There’s nothing left untouched,” he shouts, pointing to the ocean. “I could drown slowly and painfully and it still wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve been through. I can do whatever the hell I want!”

Scooting across the bench to cup Cas’ face in his hands, Dean shakes his head, refusing to believe someone could think so little of himself. “No you can’t. Christ, I know that no one’s really given a damn about you before, but this is different, alright? Do you know how freaking miserable I’d be if something happened to you? You gotta start remembering that people care about you.”

“This is only temporary.” Cas closes his eyes, shutting Dean out from the watery blue. “I won’t be here very long.”

“Ever since I can remember, the Singers always adopt the kids brought into their house, unless there is an actual reason they can’t.”

“They won’t want me, Dean.”

“Hell, Cas, if I want you, I’m sure they do.” Dean slides his hands down to rest on the nape of Cas’ neck, lowering his voice as well. “For once in your _miserable_ life just try to believe that something good is happening to you, will ya? Just this once. Be happy.”

“I can’t.” Taking in a shaky breath, Cas lets his tears finally fall, landing on Dean’s forearm. “I can’t let myself do that.”

“If you can’t do it for you,” Dean rests his forehead against Cas’, “then do it for me.”

“Anything for you.” He smiles in a tight way that’s far too bittersweet before resting his forehead against Dean’s in defeat. “Anything.”

Dean listens to the sound of the seagulls and the crash of the ocean and his unsteady breathing. He feels the brush of Cas’ fingertips on the tip of his knee and the rush of Cas’ breath ghosting across his face and the way their noses keep bumping against each other. He knows there are about a million things to say and that he should say _something_ , but he can’t.

Tipping his head slightly and leaning forward, Dean pecks Cas’ salty lips. “But one day, you’re gonna have to do it for yourself.”

*****

Castiel gets home from school later than usual, after having to tutor a boy from his history class and return a book to the library. He drops his heavy backpack onto the kitchen table, where Adam sits quietly doing his homework, and rummages through the fridge in search of some yogurt.

“Hi, Castiel.”

Most of the time, Castiel forgets that Adam and Anna live with them. Adam usually keeps to himself and rarely leaves his room, and, well, Anna runs away almost as much as _he_ used to.

“Hello, Adam. How are you?”

With a bitter laugh, Adam replies, “Tired, but I always am. I can’t remember the last time I slept through a night without a freaking nightmare.” The youngest boy rests his head on the table and rubs circles around his temples, attempting to ward off a headache. Castiel knows the feeling.

“Have you tried taking something to help you sleep?”

“No. I don’t bother going to the trouble of getting my hands on anything.”

Castiel closes the fridge without finding a yogurt. “It’s not that hard, really. They have over-the-counter sleeping aids, too.”

Adam shrugs and Castiel recognizes his indifference to the nightmares, the voices in his head, and the dark memories that regular people only see on TV. He knows what it’s like to not care if you don’t wake up in the morning and he understands what it’s like to lie down at night but never have the satisfaction of closing your eyes.

Castiel pulls up a chair across from Adam and leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “What’s your story?”

Adam laughs bitterly and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s always about the story, isn’t it?”

“I bet it’s terrible.”

“You’d win the bet,” he bites out, trying his best to force a smile. “My dad was an abusive user. My mom owned a shotgun and had twenty years’ worth of reasons to pull the trigger. Still didn’t stop the judge from locking her up though…”

It is as bad as Castiel had imagined.

“I’ll get you some of the sleeping medicine I have stashed, alright?”

“Why d’you got it stashed?”

He shrugs and picks up a paper from the table, reading the words on it but not processing the meaning. “I’m not supposed to have anything on me. I used to take anything I could get my hands on.”

Adam seems taken aback, as though he would never have expected Castiel to be the pill-popper of four foster kids. Everyone knows Anna does the hard stuff and Gabe only drinks and smokes at parties.

“That’d be great if you could.”

“No problem.”

*****

He takes the stairs two at a time, wishing that they would just build a goddamn elevator already, until he reaches the third floor and jogs into his room. He closes the door behind him and flops down onto his bed, admiring the glow-in-the-dark stars he stuck on the ceiling earlier this month. They give him something to look at when he can’t sleep. Perhaps Adam should get some as well.

In the hall, he can hear someone stomping up the stairs and walking towards his room. It isn’t much of a surprise when Dean cracks the door open and peeks his head in. “Hey, you busy?”

“No. Come in.” Sitting up, Cas waves the older boy in. “Close the door behind you. Gabe is home and if he hears you he'll come bother us.”

Dean flashes a quick smile as he closes the door and strides over to Cas, taking the boy’s face in his hands and kissing him. Instinctively, Cas meets Dean’s kiss with equal force, grabbing the collar of Dean’s shirt and yanking him down. Sinking onto the bed between Castiel’s legs, Dean places his hands on either side of Castiel’s head to support himself as he nips at the younger boy’s full lips.

“Hi,” Cas murmurs against Dean’s lips, smiling.

“I like you,” Dean laughs, placing a kiss on the top of Castiel’s head.

“I would hope so.”

“Oh, you want to be a smart-ass?” Dean challenges, moving his hands to tickle Castiel’s sides. “No one likes a smart-ass, Cas.”

In a fit of laughter, Cas shrieks, “Dean, stop!”

“I meant what I said.” Resting his hands on Cas’ hips, a smile spreads across Dean’s face. “I like you.”

Sitting up on his elbows, Cas wraps a hand around Dean’s neck and pulls him down into a chaste kiss. “I like you, too.”

“How was your day?” Dean nuzzles in Cas’ neck. “I haven’t seen you.”

“It was fine. I had some stuff to do.” Laying back against the stacks of pillows, Dean curls into Cas’ chest, listening to him as he continues. “I missed you.”

Lifting his head, Dean props himself up to smile at him. “I missed you too, Cas.” They both lean forward for a kiss, but their noses bump together. “You go left— No, Cas, my left...” Their lips eventually meet, soft and kind with whispered words and muffled giggles in between. The kind of kiss Castiel thought he would never have. The kind of kiss he doesn’t think he deserves.

*****

_The nightclub is packed. There are more bodies crammed into this room than is probably legal, but Castiel really doesn’t care; he’s high as a kite with some guy in his twenties grinding on him from behind._

_This is the third time he’s snuck out of Alistair’s house, and the third night for this run; the longest he’s ever gone without getting caught. Perhaps they won’t find him this time. He could live the rest of his life getting high with strangers, just enough to forget about his damage and have sex with them in dirty nightclub bathrooms, and hopefully he'll die on the street at a young age from overdosing on the only thing that helps him to forget._

_“C’mon.” The man grinding on him takes his hand and leads him to the back alley. He seems like the rich college student type. “How old are you? No…never mind, don’t answer that.”_

_The man pushes Castiel against the wall and kisses him, slipping his tongue between Castiel’s parted lips. He reaches for Castiel’s jeans, undoing the zipper and pulling them down. As the man takes him into his mouth Castiel throws his head back, letting out a groan. The older man makes it quick and he has Castiel panting and coming with a shout in minutes. He’s gentle as he tucks Castiel back into his jeans and smiles warmly at him with soft eyes before kissing him with such tenderness it nearly hurts. Castiel returns the favor, and then it’s over and the man leaves with a quick kiss and whispered goodbye._

_And the glorious high rapidly becomes an overwhelming crash, leaving Castiel to find some food and shelter for the night. He wanders the streets for a few hours, careful not to go down any dimly light alleys, finally taking refuge in a small park, beneath a willow tree._

_Beneath the tree he dreams of happiness. He dreams of gentle touches, kind eyes, and tiny smiles that illuminate a room. Under the cover of the starless San Francisco sky he dreams of his mother’s voice shouting at him to do his homework with the authoritative tone of love. Curled into a ball on the damp grass, he dreams of a beautiful boy who looks at him like the he is the shining sun._

_When he wakes it’s rather early, probably six or seven in the morning, and he goes to the nearest market for some food. The man behind the counter glares at Castiel through sleepy eyes._

_Searching through the aisles, he grabs a bag of chips and a water bottle, fully aware that he has no cash on him. Slipping the items beneath his coat he mutters a quick prayer, “Lord, forgive me,” and tries his best to walk casually towards the door._

_“Whatcha got there, bud?”_

_He’s only feet from the exit. “Nothing.”_

_“I saw ya’. Ya’ better put it back and we ain’t gonna have no trouble.”_

_Panicking, Castiel bolts out the door, running as fast as he can with what little energy he has left after the terrible night’s sleep. The man chases him down the street until, unfortunately, two cops round the corner, trapping Castiel between them and the shopkeeper._

_They take him to the nearest station and pepper him with questions; he doesn’t answer. They check the missing children reports and return ten minutes later with a photo of him in hand._

_“We just called your guardian, kid.” The fatter cop cuts the zip ties restraining Castiel’s hands. “Why’d you run away?”_

_“You wouldn’t believe me.”_

_“Try me.” When Castiel doesn’t respond, the cop shrugs and says, “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”_

_True to his word, the cop comes back with Alistair twenty minutes later. The man signs some papers and then Castiel is released back into the care of his guardian. The drive home is a silent one, but as soon as they enter the house and the door clicks behind them, Castiel runs._

_“You ungrateful little shit!” Alistair roars, chasing him down the hall. “I will make you wish you were never fucking born!”_

_He runs up the stairs and into his room with Alistair tailing behind him, shoving the door open as Castiel flings his body against it, trying to keep it closed, failing miserably._

_“No!” he screams, blindingly grabbing objects from the floor and throwing them at Alistair. He scrambles across the room to his bedside drawer where he keeps a pair of scissors, but Alistair grabs him by the hair and drags him back to the center of the room. “I fucking hate you!”_

_“Then leave!” Alistair opens his arms wide in a challenge, but breaks out into cruel laughter at the sight of Castiel’s helpless face. “Oh wait, you can’t, because I own your ungrateful ass.” He kneels down beside Castiel, reaching out to cup the boy’s face in his dry hand. “And by the time you get out of here, dead or alive, I’ll make you love me.”_

_“You can do many things, Alistair.” He’s so tired of playing the victim. “But not even you can create miracles.”_

_Alistair lunges at Castiel, moving his hands to curl around the boy’s neck and pushing him down onto the floor._

_“No one could ever love you,” he chokes out, trying to push Alistair away, but he becomes weaker and weaker as his vision blurs and his ears ring. The man takes one hand from Castiel’s neck to try and remove some of their clothes, making it easier for Castiel to fight back. He panics as he tries to push the man off of him._

_“When will you grow tired of fighting, Castiel?” Alistair asks, his tone as bitter and cold as his touch. “When will you learn to just lie back and take it?”_

_“I’d rather die first.”_

*****

Castiel wakes to the sound of his own scream, a horrible sound – so vulnerable and heartbroken.

Thankfully, he didn’t wet himself this time, but his shirt is damp with sweat and tears so he changes into a new one. He stands in the middle of the room for a few minutes, just staring out the window.

He quickly pads his way down the hall and into Jo’s bedroom, waking her with a gentle shove of her shoulder. “I, um, can’t sleep. Bad dream.” She rubs her eyes wearily and nods, scooting over on the bed to make room for him. He gratefully lies down beside her, resting his head on her shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Cas…” She wraps an arm around him, playing with the hairs on his neck. “I worry about you.”

“Don’t.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Dean, I need to speak with you after class.” Mr. Henricksen hands Dean a graded paper and continues down the row of desks, handing back papers as he goes. Dean doesn’t want to flip it over. He already knows it’s the test from last week, and he knows that he failed it.

The bell rings fifteen minutes later and students clear out of the room, eager to get to lunch. Once everyone else has left the room, Dean reluctantly walks the few feet to the teacher’s desk, the test crumpled in his left hand.

“You’re failing, Dean.”

“I know,” he snaps back. He takes a deep breath and asks, “What can I do?”

“You just need to get better test scores. You do your homework and it's almost always correct, but you fail nearly every test.” Mr. Henricksen clears his throat. “I think you can do better.”

“I need a tutor.”

Mr. Henricksen nods. “I think Castiel should tutor you. He has an A in the class and he never fails to get perfect scores on his tests. You two are friends, aren’t you?”

“Something like that.” With a biting smile, Dean mutters, “I’ll talk to him. Thanks.”

Dean doesn’t want to spend any more time than he needs to talking to a teacher. Stepping out into the rain, he pulls his hood up over his head. He can feel the cold fighting in through the cotton.

He doesn’t mind the rain. Wintertime in Pacifica is known mostly for its fog and wind. Over the years he’s grown fond of the fog, and when it does rain, he can’t help but take a step outside to catch a whiff of the wet pavement.

Dean runs out to the baseball field as fast as he can, getting soaked in the storm. Like always, Cas is in the covered dugout, sitting cross-legged, reading a book. Dean rushes into the dugout, ready to be out of the rain. When he reaches Cas, he tilts the boy’s head up and kisses him.

Cas pulls away, looking around with wild eyes. “Dean, people could see us.”

“No one’s out here. I checked.” He sits down beside Cas and glances at the wet trench coat. “Does that thing keep you dry?”

“It's better than yours.” Cas picks at Dean’s soaked cotton sweatshirt with two fingers. “You are going to catch a cold.”

Dean rolls his eyes and shivers as a draft sweeps through the wooden dugout. Cas gives him a look that says _You know I’m right_. He’s about to speak but Dean kisses him before he can and Cas hums happily against his lips.

Their mouths move together in a way that Dean craves. He needs to be closer to Cas. Never has he wanted to touch someone so much, but he holds back. He’d never forgive himself if he hurt Cas. He knows for a fact he tends to break everything he touches, and the boy is so fragile. He’s worried, scared even. And for the first time in his life, he isn’t worrying about himself.

Slowly, Cas pulls away just an inch, their lips still so close. His breath ghosts over Dean’s lips when he breathes out. “What did Mr. Henricksen want to talk to you about?”

“Oh. I’m failing. If I don’t pass, my dad will strangle me.”

Cas shifts away, setting his book down on the bench beside him. He looks off over the field with a pinched brow, thinking deeply.

“You need a tutor.”

“I was gonna ask you, actually.” Dean murmurs. He’s never been good at asking for help.

In the distance the bell rings, signaling the end of the lunch period. Cas leans over and kisses Dean chastely. “I’ll help you. Come over tomorrow and we can start a study guide for you. Okay?” The younger boy stands, straightening his trench coat and collecting his bag.  He smiles at Dean and heads out of the dugout, leaving Dean to wonder how he ever got so lucky.

*****

“This is dumb.” Dean slams his textbook shut and flings his body back onto the bed, covering his eyes with his arm. He can hear the rustling of papers and the creak of springs as Cas moves to lie down beside him, curling around Dean’s body and resting his head on Dean's chest. Dean lets out a content sigh at Castiel’s touch, the feeling of feathery fingertips tracing his jaw and feet tangling with his ankles. “I’m dumb.”

“You aren’t dumb. You just think differently.”

Dean lets his arm fall away from his face to press firmly against Cas’ back, pulling the younger boy closer. Eventually, Cas’ breathing slows and steadies. His eyelids flutter and his jaw goes slack. Dean tries to memorize every detail on Castiel; each mole and every eyelash; all of the scars that have stories Cas will never tell him, because Dean knows better than to ask. With half-lidded eyes he commits every rib that shows through the pale skin and every frown line to his memory. He tries to drink in the rosy color of Cas' cheeks and the way his hair never looks messed up even when it totally is.

He tries to turn the moment into a personal movie he can play over and over again in his head. He stores it away with all the others he’s made.

These are the things he wants to remember when he goes away. He wants to remember the lazy days when Cas falls asleep against his chest, the urgent press of lips and the grinding of hips when his parents leave them alone to go to the store for a few minutes, and the soft whispers and comforting words exchanged when they are least expected.

Dean wants to lie down at night, wherever he is, whatever he is doing, and relive the little things with Cas, in his head. Because that’s the only thing he can do.

Sometimes, when he has a bad day, he imagines new days with Cas -- days where they go to the park and hold hands for everyone to see, days where they go to senior prom and no one even asks why, days where Dean can say those three perfect words that can tear their worlds apart without the worry of breaking Cas’ heart. Those are the days he wishes for, but he knows will never come.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

After spacing out, Dean hadn’t noticed Cas waking up. He shakes his head and kisses the top of Cas’ head.

“Nothing.”

“That’s what you say, but you’re lying.”

Dean can’t help but smile as he runs his fingers through Cas’ dark hair. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve told that lie enough times to know better than to believe it.”

*****

“Hey, faggot!” Castiel doesn’t even have to turn around to know who it is. He doesn’t bother turning around, either. It’s best to just ignore him. But Gordon is persistent. He grabs Castiel’s shoulder and spins him around. “Did you hear me? I’m talking to you.”

“That’s nice, Gordon, but that does not mean that I have to listen.”

“Don’t you remember what happened to you the last time you were a smart ass?”

Castiel shrugs and turns back around to his locker, shoving his Algebra textbook inside.

“You better stop hanging around Winchester. We all know how bad you want him.”

Castiel clenches his teeth, wishing he could deck the guy. “Dean and I are friends and that is all we will ever be.” How many times has he said that lie?

“Well, quit following him around like a lost puppy, because he ain’t a fag like you.”

Slamming his locker shut, Castiel turns around to face him. “How very kind of you to inform me. I’ll make sure to make a mental note of that.” He knows he’s asking for it, but honestly, how can he not do this? Gordon is a total asshole. When Gordon raises his fist and punches him, Castiel just takes it because there’s no point in fighting back. Gordon walks away smugly as Cas scrambles to a bathroom, blood seeping from his nose.

He cleans himself up as best he can and heads home, letting himself into the Winchester’s house with the hidden key. Dean's car is in the driveway; he must not have practice today. He walks into the living room to find Dean sprawled out on the couch in a deep sleep. Castiel sets his bag down and goes over to Dean to kiss him on the lips.

“You better be Cas…” Dean mumbles grumpily, his eyes still closed as he stretches out his hands to Castiel’s chest and pretends to be groping for boobs. “Oh honey, you got implants?”

He scoffs and shoves the sleepy boy playfully, “Make some room for me.”

Dean opens his eyes and turns onto his side to allow Castiel to lie down next to him on the narrow couch. Dean throws his arm over Castiel lazily and brushes their lips together. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to do that.”

He kisses Castiel again, harder this time as he presses their bodies together. Their noses bump and Castiel winces. Dean opens his eyes and frowns at the sight of Castiel’s bruised face. “Who the hell hit you? Your nose is all purple and red.”

“Gordon.” Castiel hooks a leg over Dean’s hip, grabbing Dean’s hand and placing it on his waist. “It’s nothing.”

“I told him to lay off of you…”

“Well he didn’t.” Grinding his hips against Dean’s, Castiel kisses the corner of Dean’s mouth. It’s been a week or two since they’ve been alone like this, and the need to touch each other has never been so strong. “How has practice been?” Slipping his hand under Dean’s cotton shirt, Cas kisses his cheek, feeling Dean’s skin heat up under his touch. “I’ve missed you.”

“Dad’s been working me to death.” Sighing into the touch, Dean’s hands roam over Castiel’s frame. “Christ, Cas, I’ve missed you too.”

“When do your parents get home?”

“Sammy should be home any minute.”

Castiel hums in reply, licking his way into Dean’s mouth. Adjusting their position, Dean lies under Castiel with their hips slotted together in a slow grind. The tightness of Castiel’s jeans grows with every circular motion of his hips and he tries his best to keep a rhythm as the pressure becomes unbearable.

“You’re gonna make me come in my pants if you keep this up, Cas,” Dean pants against his lips, sloppily dragging his mouth down Castiel’s neck and sucking at his pulse point. “Like a typical fucking teenager.”

“Just shut up,” he grumbles, grinding harder in search of friction. “God, you’re so hot.”

“Christ, Cas, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

He wouldn’t admit it to Dean, but this would be ten times better if he was high. He could do anything if he was high. He’s unbreakable with something pumping through his veins, because feeling doesn’t apply when his mind is detached from his body. It really shouldn’t be like that, should it? His bones should feel like Jell-O just from the sheer touch of Dean’s lips to his skin.

The pressure becomes too much for Dean and he comes in his jeans with a shudder, yanking Castiel down to him in an urgent kiss. He nips and licks his way into Cas’ mouth, continuing to grind his hips against Castiel’s trapped erection.

“C’mon Cas,” Dean groans quietly against Cas’ lips. “Come for me, baby.”

“Shit, Dean.” The pressure releases into his jeans as a sticky mess and a muffled moan. “I guess I’ll have to do my own laundry this week…”

Dean laughs and pulls Cas into one last lazy kiss, tugging Cas’ lower lip between his teeth. They lie there sated for a few minutes before Dean nudges Cas and says, “Get up. We can go put our clothes in the wash.”

They shuffle into the laundry room down in the basement. Dean closes the door behind them and turns to Cas. He takes a step forward, pinning Cas against the wall and playing with the hem of Cas’ shirt before lifting it over his head and tossing it towards the washer in one clean motion. “Cas…you are so freaking gorgeous.” Dean’s fingers slide down the planes of his torso, stopping at his jeans. He pops the button and zips down the fly without hesitation. Cas breathes heavily as he wiggles out of his sticky boxers and dark jeans.

“Dean…”

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Closing his eyes, Dean kisses the corner of Cas’ mouth and mutters, “I won’t even look if you don’t want me to.”

Swallowing hard and trying his best to regulate his breathing, Castiel looks up and wishes for the anxiety to go away. “I…Dean…” He fumbles over his words as he tries to keep it under control. Be happy. Be normal. Do it for Dean. Be normal for Dean. Cas feels Dean’s hand reach for his hip, sending Castiel into a downward spiral. “Dean, I can’t. I’m so sorry—I’m sorry. I can’t, Dean. Stop. Stop it. Please.”

He slides down the wall, curling into a cold, naked ball and erupting into uneven sobs that tear through his false happiness. There are hands that cover his body and crude whispers in his ears that rip him to pathetic pieces. The light disappears and he feels limp. He is dead to the world, or maybe the world is dead to him.

When he wakes, the room is silent. Dean stands leaning against the washer, tears in his eyes as he stares down at the floor.

“Dean.”

“Don’t.” Dean snaps back. His voice is hard, and he refuses to look at Cas. “Don’t start.”

Scrambling to get up, Cas rushes over, grabbing Dean’s hands and placing them on his body with a cold shudder. Forcing his eyes shut, Cas whispers. “I’m sorry. Touch me, Dean. I want you to, I…I really do. I can do this. I can do this for you.”

Dean doesn’t deserve this. Dean deserves someone who can give him what he wants. Castiel can’t do that. He never will be able to fully do that.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel chokes on the words and Dean pulls his hands away from Cas’ shaking body. “You deserve better…Dean, I’m sorry. I’m not good enough. I tried. I tried so hard to let you do it. I tried to let you have what you wanted but—but I couldn’t.”

Slamming his hand down on the metal washer, Dean shouts, “It’s my fault! I did this to you. I…I hurt you this time. This was all on me…and I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“No, I should have just let you—“

“Dammit Cas! You shouldn’t ‘let me’ do anything to you. You have to want it. Don’t do this because you think it will make me happy. I should have stopped…I shouldn’t have even started in the first place. You weren’t ready.”

“You deserve someone who is.”

“I don’t deserve shit after what I just put you through.” Dean bites his lower lip, shaking his head in disappointment. “You deserve someone who can wait.”

Reaching for a clean pair of Dean’s underwear from a basket and pulling them on, Cas wipes at his tears. “Can we at least—“

“Go home, Cas.” Dean turns his head away from him. “Just get the hell out of here.”

He waits for Dean to take it back. To tell him to stay. To fix it. He doesn’t. In defeat, Castiel collects his soiled clothes and broken body and leaves. He passes Sam in the hall on the way out the door.

“Cas! Where are your clothes?” Sam calls out to him as he slams the front door and crosses the street in Dean’s plaid boxers.

He stomps into the Singer house, completely ignoring everyone as they badger him with questions. He climbs the three flights of stairs and slams his bedroom door shut behind him, falling to his knees as soon as he hears the lock click.

The world isn’t hateful. Humanity is. The mind is. _He_ is. He hates himself. He hates his past. He despises his lack of future. He wishes for happiness, but only rewards himself with pain. He is his own enemy.

“No one would miss you,” he whispers, digging his fingernail into the soft fat of his inner thigh and wincing at the spark of pain. “You are unlovable.”

“You do more harm than good.” Curling into a ball on the cold wood floor, Castiel grips his hair in his hands and yanks, muffling a short sob. “You aren’t worth saving.”

The sky turns black and the sun falls. He is dead to the world.

“He will _never_ love you. No one could ever love you.”

Ellen knocks on the door and tries to open it, but the lock stops her. “Castiel, are you okay?”

“I am unlovable. Unwanted. Used,” he repeats louder, just loud enough for her to hear him. “I am forgettable.”

“Cas, what in the world are you doing?”

“I am dead to the world.”

She rattles the door knob and slams her body against the wooden door, “Castiel, open the door.”

“I am the scum of the fucking earth.”

“Castiel!” On the other side of the door, she yells. “Someone get the key!”

“A broken boy with nowhere and no one.” Dragging his nails down his chest, he feels the skin burn and blood prickle to the surface. “Ellen, if I died, do you think God would want me?”

“Castiel, honey, open this damn door and tell me what’s wrong.”

“He’s never going to touch me ever again. I can’t blame him.”

Someone must have brought her a spare key, because she unlocks the door and quickly lets herself in, coming to sit beside his still body on the floor.

She brushes the hair from his eyes, caressing his temple with her thumb. “Who’s 'he'?”

“He didn’t mean to…” Pressing his face into her knee, he sobs. “It’s my fault. I’m dirty and broken.”

“Castiel, I need to know if you took anything, in case I need to call poison control.”

“No time…” he mumbles, drawing circles on her knee. “Never enough time.”

“Let’s get you into a bath,” she whispers, lifting him to his feet and helping him down the hall. As the water runs, she looks at the scratches he gave himself. “If he cares, he will wait until you can handle it. Dean is loyal. He'll stick around no matter what.”

It doesn’t surprise him that Ellen knows about Dean. She sees all, and perhaps that is a good thing. She sees the good and the bad; the right and the wrong; the broken and the beautiful, yet she still unconditionally cares and loves with every single cell in her body.

“You’re a good person.” Trying his best to smile, Castiel touches Ellen’s cheek with the tips of his fingers, hoping that she can tell he is being genuine. “You are a good mother.”

He gets into the tub without another word, letting the water surround him and drown him and kill the filth that covers his body. Too bad it doesn’t reach his mind.

*****

Sam jumps the last three steps on the Singer’s huge staircase, enjoying the smacking sound his feet make when he hits the first floor. He strolls into the kitchen in search of another half-empty bottle of liquor for the kids upstairs to have.

He smiles at Cas when he enters the kitchen. The older boy is on the phone ordering pizza. From upstairs, Sam hears Gabe yelling about being hungry.

“Yes, thank you. Goodbye.” Castiel hangs up the phone and turns to Sam, “How is everyone?”

“High off their asses and hungry,” Sam replies and bends down to rummage through the liquor cabinet. He smiles in triumph as he pulls out two half-empty bottles of rum. “Jackpot!”

“How are you and Jessica?” With a smile, Cas grabs one of the bottles and unscrews it, taking a long pull. “I heard that you two had a study date yesterday.”

“It went well, I’m supposed to have another one with her soon. How are you and Dean? Dean doesn’t like talking to me about you.”

Cas shrugs, obviously not sure how to broach the topic, “If this were to get out, Sam, he could lose everything.”

“It won’t get out.” Sam tries his best to sound reassuring. “Besides, who would tell?”

“It could slip.” He screws the cap back on the bottle, looking over at Sam. “We could get caught. I think if someone were to catch us, Dean would take the easy way out.”

Sam opens his mouth to ask what he means, but Jo peers around the corner and calls out. “You two ladies coming upstairs or what?”

Everyone cheers when Castiel enters the TV room on the third floor, raising the bottles above his head to encourage the laughter. He hands the bottles to Pam who makes quick work of unscrewing the caps and passing them around.

He sees Dean settled on a couch, cozied up to Anna and sharing a bottle of God-knows-what. He leans in to whisper something in her ear and she bites her lower lip in a way that makes Castiel's skin crawl. Dean catches his eye, and Castiel quickly escapes from the room, heading back to his little corner of the house. He slips into his room and takes a seat on the end of his bed.

“Cas.”

“Go back to the party, Dean.” He stares out the window, feeling his chest ache with every word. “Have fun.”

“I need to talk to you.” Dean’s socked feet shuffle closer. “About the other day—“

“You don’t want me.”

Shaking his head, Dean corrects him. “That’s not true. You know it.”

“I can’t give you what you want. So, why don’t you go screw Anna, because she can easily give you a good time, and I can’t.”

“You saw that.”

Castiel scoffs in disgust, glaring at Dean. “I’ve seen it all, Winchester.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dean pleads, sitting on the bed beside Castiel. “Not you, please.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You are the only one I want.” Reaching up and cupping Castiel’s face in his calloused hand, Dean brings their faces closer together. “I pressured you and I’m sorry.”

“I forgot that it’s okay to say no, and I’m sorry.”

Dean kisses him with the tenderness that a lover should have. “You aren’t allowed to say sorry.” Their lips meet again. “I screwed up, Cas. Not you.”

“So, you are okay waiting?” He brushes his fingertips along Dean’s stubbly jawline. “I don’t know how soon or if I will ever be able to do the things that you want to do.”

“Cas, I’m happy with what we have now.” Looking down at his hand, Dean releases his breath with a huff. “To be honest, my intentions weren’t clear yesterday. This sounds weird, but I was trying to be sweet and clean you up. I didn’t exactly think it through…”

“It was unexpected and you cornered me and I couldn’t breathe.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“I’m going to hurt, Dean. No matter what you do, I will always hurt.” Castiel wants it to make sense. He wants to make sense to Dean, but that seems like such an impossible thing to achieve. “I hurt all the time.”

Looking at him with a heartbroken gaze, Dean asks. “Do you hurt right now?”

“No.” Reaching up and cupping Dean’s face in his hands, Castiel replies, “I hurt at night when he appears in my dreams. I hurt at school where no one understands me. I hurt when I’m alone and my mind gets the best of me. I just hurt, and now my hurt is getting to you, but I’m selfish and I don’t want to give up the one thing that makes me hurt less.”

Dean blinks and the tears fall. “Which is?”

“You.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Dean, can you go to the store for me today and get everything we need to make Thanksgiving dinner?” Mary walks into Dean’s room, carrying a basket of clean laundry with her. “I’ve made a list for you and I'll give you the money.”

Dean rolls over on his bed to face her and asks, “Do I have to?”

“You can take Castiel with you.” She gives him a small—almost knowing—smile and continues. “He can help you find everything.”

Watching her carefully as she puts his clothes away into his dresser, he wonders what she knows and what she just assumes. “Fine.” He rolls off his bed and grabs a pair of possibly clean jeans. “I’ll go, but just so you know, Cas is freaking terrible to shop with.”

“Thank you sweetheart!” She kisses his cheek and takes out the list and the cash. “Take the van; it can fit all the groceries.”

He cringes. “Oh, c’mon mom! The van?”

She hits him playfully on the shoulder, her golden hair falling in her face. “Go on. I want you home by dinner.”

Dean grabs a coat and heads across the street to track down Cas. When he walks in through the side door, Gabe, Ellen, and Adam all announce in unison, “He’s upstairs.”

Taken aback by the automatic reply, Dean stares at them. “Why do you assume I’m here for Cas?”

“Because you are always here for Cas.” Adam rolls his eyes and continues to unload the dishwasher. “We only ever see you when you ask where he is, and the answer is always the same.”

“Adam is right, Dean-o. You aren’t here to see us,” Gabe says in a mischievous tone. “You are here for a little slice of the dark-haired, blue-eyed angel who lives on the third floor of Casa Singer.”

Dean looks to Ellen, hoping that she will defend him. She shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, kid. You two are inseparable.”

Releasing a breath of disbelief, Dean pushes past Gabe and out of the kitchen. “Okay, whatever.” As he turns the corner, he runs into Cas. “Hey, I was just about to get you. I have to go get the groceries for Thanksgiving. Wanna come?”

Cas’ forehead creases in confusion. “Why do you have to do it and why am I required to come as well?”

“My mom asked me to and she said I could bring you, so c’mon! We can get ice cream or something on the way back.”

Cas shrugs in defeat and follows Dean out the door. They drive across town to the local grocery store and park the van. The store is packed with Thanksgiving shoppers, but Cas is pretty good at navigating through large crowds by making awkward, intense eye contact with other shoppers until they move out of his way. The more Cas does it, the funnier it is, and Dean wishes he could record it or something.

Dean points in the direction of the baking aisle and says, “Go get the marshmallows.” Minutes later, Cas returns with four bags of the extra-large marshmallows in hand, smiling at Dean as though he had just completed an enormous task of great importance. Dean takes two of the bags and puts them in the cart. “Cas, take the other two back.”

“Why?”

“Because we really only need one, but we can get two if you want.”

Cas glares down at the two bags in his hands before looking up to glare at Dean. “Fine,” he says and stalks away in a fury, tan trench coat flailing behind him. When he returns he is carrying a few of the remaining items on the list and he places them in the cart without saying a word to Dean. They get everything else they need and check out within thirty minutes.

“You okay?” Dean pats Cas’ knee once they climb into the car, having already loaded it with all the groceries. “You were acting a little weird in there.”

“Shopping is very domestic,” Cas replies, staring out the window, his voice flat and emotionless. “I’m not used to that.”

“Listen, let’s drop the food off and take a trip out to the beach. We can take a blanket and some food. Sound good?”

Cas nods and even turns his head to give Dean a smile. They drop the food off at Ellen’s house and Dean runs inside to grab a blanket and a few of the books beside Cas’ bed before returning to the running car in the driveway.

“Ready?” Turning to Cas, Dean waits for Cas to smile and then pulls out of the driveway. “Let’s hit the road, Jack.”

“Who is Jack?” Cas stares at Dean in absolute confusion. “Dean, there is no Jack.”

“It’s just a phrase, Cas.”

“Oh, okay.” Sliding down in the seat and bending his typically straight posture, Cas closes his eyes and hums along to the radio as Dean drives.

They go to the one beach in town that is normally pretty empty and has some dunes they can settle themselves into. There are two other cars parked in the makeshift gravel lot, but no one in sight once they settle onto the beach. The sky is a gloomy grey and the sun does not peek through the clouds at all. Some seagulls fly overhead and the waves crash. It’s a beautiful day.

They lay the blanket out on the sand and curl around one another like cats. Their lips touch and their fingers run across each other’s palms and fingertips, trying to commit each other’s identities to memory by the creases in their skin.

“Are you happy?” Cas asks, nuzzling his face into the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?” Running a hand through Cas’ dark hair, Dean laughs and then stops himself, his tone becoming serious. “Are you…?”

“I’m better than I used to be.” He contemplates this for a moment. “With you, I suppose I am happy.”

Dean nods quietly, accepting the fact that Cas may never know true happiness, not after all the pain he has been put through. “What was it like before?”

“Like…” Breathing in sharply, Cas ponders the question, choosing his words carefully. “When my mother died it was like forgetting what the sun looked like. Like the color was drained from the world.” The words fall out in twisted, fast sentences of hurt and anger. “And He was like burning off all your flesh and stabbing pins and needles into your tongue and eyes and lungs every second of every day. Not being able to breathe. Not being able to scream.” Each word comes out harsher than the last and stings the air with hatred and resentment.

“I can’t even imagine what it was like…” Dean touches Cas’ face gently, and kisses his forehead. “It must’ve been hell.”

Resting his ear against Dean’s chest, Cas replies, “It was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Never be sorry for something that isn’t your fault.”

Dean sighs at this, wishing Cas would take his own advice every once in a while. He lets the waves answer him instead, and the seagulls cackle their distant reply, because there is nothing he can say. He wonders when the waves will stop answering for him and when he might actually have to face the reality that Cas needs more help than Dean can provide. Looking at Cas’ resting figure pressed against his own, he asks himself how much longer he can keep Cas’ horrific secret and he knows what the answer is.

Cas is going to break. He’s going to snap and crash and burn, and Dean is going to watch. He’s going to watch this beautiful boy with a heart of gold crumble to a heap of burning ash and rotting matter. He is going to cry and weep for a boy he thought he knew, but could never truly help, and that is going to kill him inside.

The shittiest thing you can ever do to yourself is fall in love with someone who is already broken beyond repair. No matter how hard you hope your love will save them, it won’t, and Dean knows that. Nuzzling his nose into Cas’ dark locks of hair, he breathes in and tells himself that he doesn’t care; that it’s worth it; that Cas is different. He’s wrong, and he knows that, too.

“I think Ellen and Bobby might adopt me…” Cas announces suddenly and quietly, interrupting Dean’s thoughts. “I heard them talking in the kitchen in the other night.”

“I told you they would,” he murmurs into Cas’ skin. “They always do.”

“They haven’t adopted Adam.”

“Because Adam’s mom will get custody back once she is out of jail.”

“You know that’s not true.” Sitting up, Cas looks out at the sea. “She isn’t going to be released before he turns eighteen.”

Dean watches him carefully, dragging his fingers through the sand. “It’s just how it is, Cas.”

“Yeah, that’s just how it is, isn’t it?” The bitterness spikes in Cas’ voice. Bringing his knees to his chest, he wraps his arms around them. “Yeah, kids are beaten and raped and starved every day because that’s just how it is, right, Dean? We can't change that and there is no use in fighting it.”

“Cas, I didn’t mean it like—“

“Like what?” Cas snaps, still refusing to turn around and face him. “Like it really isn’t that bad? You do not know anything Dean. You have not lived it, therefore you cannot tell me shit like that.”

Dean remains silent, letting the waves answer him again, until he murmurs, “You're always so angry at me, have you noticed that?”

“I’m not angry at you, though.”

“I know.” He watches Cas’ hair ruffle with the gust of wind and says, “Cas, I want to help you. You don’t deserve the shit you’ve been through and I’m trying so hard to make you happy. I didn’t think it’d get this serious. Hell, I thought it was a one-time thing, but I think I’m falling in—“

“Stop.” The younger boy turns around, meeting Dean’s eyes with his icy blue gaze. Scrambling back over to Dean, Cas kisses him softly and presses his fingers to Dean’s lips in a gesture of silence. “Don’t say it. Not now. Not yet.”

“But—“

“No Dean. I can’t.” Brushing their cold lips together, he murmurs. “One day, I promise. Just not today.”

“I just wanted you to know.” Dean pulls away slightly in defeat, wishing he hadn’t said it, that he'd kept his fucking mouth shut. “I thought that you were feeling it too and I just—“

Cas silences him with another kiss, rougher this time. His tongue forces its way into Dean’s mouth and Dean struggles to remember how he was going to finish that sentence. He must’ve stopped kissing back as he forces himself to focus on what he was going to say, but Cas digs his hands up and under Dean’s sweatshirt, aggressively muttering against Dean’s lips, “Stop thinking and kiss me.”

Dean drags his lips down Cas’ jawline to that sweet spot on his pale neck where he can feel the blood thrum through Cas’ body. He presses his tongue there and licks his way to the soft flesh of Cas’ earlobe, where he takes the skin between his teeth. Cas’ entire body reacts to the sensation of it, pressing closer and closer to Dean. One of his hands slides down between their bodies and squeezes Dean’s hard dick through his jeans.

Dean’s hips jerk involuntarily at the feeling and Cas’ nimble fingers go to work unzipping and unbuttoning Dean’s jeans without a word. Christ, Dean doesn’t want to, but he feels obligated to say it anyways: “You don’t have to.”

Grazing his teeth across Dean’s neck, Cas snakes his hand into Dean’s boxers and wraps a hand around his trapped erection. “I want to.”

Dean’s eyelids suddenly become too heavy as Cas starts pumping his fist and twisting his wrist in a teasingly slow rhythm that makes Dean’s hips jerk with anticipation. Dean feels Cas wiggle his body down and take him into his mouth without hesitation or warning. The feeling is almost foreign to Dean, it’s been so long. His entire body involuntarily shudders when Cas swirls his tongue around the head and bobs his mouth down, only to come back up with hollowed cheeks and continue on with an expert rhythm.

Tangling his fingers in Cas’ dark hair, Dean bites down on his lower lip in a weak attempt to stifle a moan, which still escapes his lips. Upon hearing the sound, Cas just ever so slightly grazes his teeth as he bobs his head back up and elicits some ungodly and unexpected sound from Dean’s mouth. There’s a warm tight feeling building in Dean’s lower abdomen that he can’t ignore much longer. Occasionally, his hips jerk without warning, but Cas keeps going, never pausing.

Minutes pass, all the while the pressure continues to build until Dean is afraid he might burst. “Cas, I’m gonna come,” Dean grits out through a clenched jaw. He tries to push Cas away before he climaxes, but he won’t budge. Cas does that thing with his teeth one last time and it forces Dean into a shuddering orgasm. “Cas…oh fuck!”

He sees stars. He sees auroras and burst of faded fireworks behind his eyelids and the only coherent sound he can understand is the sound of his blood rushing through his ears. When he opens his eyes after a few minutes, Cas has already cleaned him up and tucked him back into his jeans.

“That was…” Dean starts.

Cas cuts him off with a snort. “Amazing?” He shrugs, sliding back up to Dean’s eye level and laying down with his arms folded behind his head. “I’ve always been good at that.”

“Jesus Christ, Cas. I couldn’t even form an actual sentence for a few seconds.”

Cas bursts out into a laugh. “I have that effect on people.”

Lying down beside him, the euphoria of his orgasm still wracking his brain, Dean relaxes as their sides touch. He nudges Cas playfully. “Oh, shut up.”

“It’s been awhile since I'd done that.”

“Me too.”

They lay there in comfortable silence, pretending that they both don’t know why Cas is so damn good at giving head, and acting as if it is some kind of inborn talent. They pretend that this is healthy—hiding out on a beach and ignoring the past—because they so desperately want to believe that one day they can be.

“I’m excited for Thanksgiving.” Cas turns onto his side, curling into Dean’s chest. “It’s been a few years since I’ve had a Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Wait till you try the mashed potatoes…”

Playing with the zipper of Dean’s sweatshirt, Cas smirks. “Do I get to try the infamous Winchester cherry pie?”

Tipping his head back in a laugh and wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist, Dean looks down at him in disbelief. “I think you just did, babe.”

Cas wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe I’ll want seconds tomorrow.”

“God, I hope so.” Smiling, Dean kisses Cas’ forehead. “Maybe one day I can return the favor.”

The silence that follows stretches out for a few moments as Cas traces small circles on Dean’s chest. He nods hesitantly, trying to reassure himself. “Yeah, maybe.”

Ruffling Cas’ hair, Dean wraps his arms around the boy and holds him tightly. “Let’s go camping over Christmas break. We could go to Yosemite or something for a weekend. Just you and me.”

“It is going to be very cold.” Scrunching his nose in disgust, Cas looks up at Dean’s freckled complexion. “And dirty.”

“You are such a freaking baby.” Huffing a laugh of disbelief, he pinches Cas’ side playfully. “Live a little, kid. We can take the Impala and sleep in the car or something. Or my grandparents have a cabin in Tahoe we could borrow.”

“What about for New Year’s?”

Smiling, Dean rests his head on top of Cas’. “Yeah, for New Year’s we can go to Tahoe.”

“Just us?”

“Yeah Cas, just us.”

*****

Castiel looks out the window of his bedroom, watching as more and more cars park on the already crowded street and more and more people file toward the Singer home. It seems as though Castiel underestimated how many “siblings” Jo said were coming to stay with them for the Thanksgiving holiday. Castiel had not realized that over the past twelve years, Bobby and Ellen have adopted more than fifteen kids.

Most of the adoptees have families now. They live on their own and have jobs or are attending college. Some have even gotten married or had a few kids of their own—those are the ones that won’t be coming for dinner. Jo explained it to him last night, but he was only partially listening.

Apparently, the Singers have a somewhat traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Instead of cooking the turkey in the oven, though, they opt out to deep-fry a couple turkeys in the fryer out back. They set up tables in the kitchen for the extra guests and everyone is supposed to bring something. Not only do a lot of the Singers' previous adopted children come over for the infamous dinner, but the Winchesters always join them as well.

Castiel can hear Dean laughing from Jo’s room and he heads over to see what's so hysterical. When he arrives, Dean is laid out on Jo’s bed in a very attractive manner and Jo is sitting on the floor of her room sifting through old photos.

“What is so funny?” Castiel asks as he enters the room and lies down beside Dean. Automatically, Dean wraps a comforting arm around Castiel’s middle and squeezes him in an affectionate way. “I heard you laughing from across the hall.”

“Jo and I were talking about how awful middle school was.”

They don’t hear the footsteps coming down the hall over the sound of Jo’s laugh upon finding an exceptionally embarrassing photo from four years ago. Ellen cracks the door open and stops at the doorway to stare at Dean and Cas curled around one another, laughing happily. She smiles and clears her throat, causing the two boys to separate from one another in a panic.

“We need some help downstairs; someone has gotta set up the chairs. You boys don’t mind, do you?” Glancing knowingly between them, Ellen watches them scramble off the bed hurriedly and head downstairs. After they have left the room, Ellen turns to look at her daughter. “Those two don’t deserve to have to keep it quiet.”

Jo places the photos back in the box beside her. “People don’t always deserve the shit they have to go through.” Looking up at her mother, Jo asks. “How long have you known about them?”

“Bobby and I know. We’ve been keepin’ a close eye on Cas. He’s got so many problems and Lord knows that boy is a ticking time bomb...” She looks over her shoulder to make sure they're alone and walks over to Jo, sitting beside her on the floor. “One night they were going at it by the back door, and I saw them through the window. I'd had a feeling about those two, but that just proved it.”

“Cas loves him, if Cas is capable of love,” Jo says quietly, looking down at her pale hands. “Dean loves Cas, I think. Or he is falling in love with him.”

“Let’s pray that John never finds out about those two. I’m not sure if I could keep myself from murdering John after he murders our Cas…”

“It’s sad,” Jo says. “It’s sad that they can’t just _be_.”

“Everything about Cas is sad,” Ellen replies and brushes the hair from her daughter’s beautiful face. “Everything about Dean is sad in a silent, sit-back-and-take-it sort of way.”

Resting her head on Ellen’s shoulder, Jo sighs. “Does Mary know?”

“She’s getting a notion of it, but she ain’t gonna tell John.” Patting Jo’s head, she continues, “She loves that boy too much to put him through that pain.”

“If John finds out, he's going to send Dean away.”

“If John finds out, you have to watch over Cas. He can’t handle that.”

Jo nods, standing up with the box and taking it over to her closet. She puts it back on its designated shelf. “What happened to Cas?”

“No one knows for sure.” Ellen gets up, returning to the doorway. “He came out of his previous foster home bloody and mute, and then he came to us. Hasn’t told a soul about what happened.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Jo laughs bitterly. “What if he leaves this house bloody and mute? Or dead?”

Ellen cocks her head to one side. “Aren’t those the same thing?”

“I guess…”

Walking over to her daughter and enveloping her in a massive hug, Ellen whispers into Jo’s ear, “Cas is going to leave this house loved. No matter if he is dead or alive or sad or happy, he will leave this house loved.”

*****

“Should we get high before dinner?” Castiel asks, lying upside down off of his bed. “I have some weed in my sock drawer.”

“God, Cassie.” Gabe laughs, smacking Castiel on his exposed stomach. “Is that the only way you could possibly participate in any social event?”

Defensively, Castiel replies, “Yes, because I’m a socially inept freak!”

Dean looks between the two foster brothers from where he lies on the floor, his head in Jo’s lap. She’s running her hands through his hair and he must have dozed off for a few minutes. “Yeah, let’s light a joint.”

Jo’s face crinkles into an uncomfortable smile. “I don’t know, guys.”

“Come on, Jo. Someone get Sammy in here.”

Someone goes to grab Sammy as Castiel rolls up two joints for the group to share. They head downstairs, claiming that they all want to go for a walk before dinner and head off to the park around the corner.

The sky is gloomy, as always, and Castiel’s black sweater hangs from his body in a way that hides his toned abdomen and strong arms. As they walk, Dean carelessly throws an arm across Castiel’s shoulders, pulling him tight against his side. Their steps fall into the same pattern and Castiel smiles.

The five teenagers arrive at the deserted park just as the rain begins to fall. They all huddle beneath the jungle gym and light the joints eagerly, craving the effects it will have on their developing, vulnerable brains.

They sit there in contented silence, acknowledging that their friendships here may not last beyond the four years that high school gives them. They recognize how insignificant this could be if they let it slip away as easily as it comes. They understand that life is temporary at every point in time.

“I was accepted to Penn State on early decision,” Jo announces to everyone, passing the blunt to Sam. “I’ve committed there.”

There is no shock or disorientation. There’s a sense of silent loss and acceptance that this will hurt when the time comes, but not in this moment, not yet.

“Congratulations, Jo!” Gabe shouts, grabbing her and crushing her in an enormous embrace. “That’s so great.”

“We’re proud of you Jo.” Dean smiles genuinely, kissing her cheek in an affectionate way that resembles that of a brother. “So freaking proud.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything; instead he walks silently over to her and holds her. That says everything he wishes to say and everyone understands, because no one is going to make Cas talk if he doesn’t want to.

They finish what they came to do and then they discard the evidence before they make the trek back to the house in their dazed state. The world feels softer now, kinder. Maybe it will make dinner easier to bear, with the world so happy and open and free, or maybe it will make the world deceptive and false to the naked eye. Either way, Castiel can’t possibly feel any pain with the THC running through his brain. God bless that sweet girl Mary Jane, she really does work wonders on teenage boys.


	9. Chapter 9

Everyone is settled at their designated seats in the Singer house. The table has food as far as the eye can see and more people around it than Dean thinks is necessary. It’s always been like this: year after year, more people come as more people are taken in by the Singers. There is a lot of laughter and good conversation in the room as everyone piles their plates with unreasonably-sized servings of various dishes. They all dig in and allow the conversations to continue through stuffed mouths.

Cas’ plate is by far the emptiest. He hardly had anything at all and Dean’s bugging him to get some more food as John eyes the two boys suspiciously across the table. Dean tries his best to ignore his father while John badgers Cas with stupid questions that insult Cas more than they reveal anything about him. Dean’s jaw clicks shut as his father asks a particularly rude question about Castiel’s dead mother and missing father and Cas brushes his fingers across Dean’s knee to assure him that everything is okay.

Down the table, Ellen stands and calls for everyone’s attention. The room quiets and all attention focuses on her. “Tonight, I have some special announcements to make.” Ellen smiles widely, placing a hand on Jo’s shoulder. “My beautiful daughter Joanna has been accepted to Penn State University and will be going there next fall!” Jo’s glassy eyes fall to the floor as she struggles to contain her uncontrollable laughter. The sight of her laughing sends Dean into hysterical laughter as well.  The room spins and twists. Everyone vibrates and the colors jump out to grab him. The room erupts into joyous cries and the sound of continuous clapping, until everyone realizes that Ellen has one more thing to say. “And we have just filed to adopt the 18th member of our family: Castiel.”

Once again, there are words of congratulations and some clapping as everyone turns to Cas. After the excitement dies down and everyone has returned to their meals, a former adoptee of Ellen, a woman named Eve, turns to Dean and asks loud enough for everyone to hear, “So, where are you heading off to school, Dean?”

The room gets quiet once more, waiting to hear Dean’s reply. He struggles to keep from laughing—he’s always giggly when he’s high—and tries his best to form an actual response, although the words on his tongue sound alien to him. He should be panicking right now, though. Cas doesn’t know anything about where Dean’s going to school next fall. He forces himself to try to think of something clever, “Well, I just—“

John interrupts him, “Scouts are looking at him from a couple schools in the Midwest and some over on the East Coast.”

He was going to tell Cas sooner or later, but he was hoping he had more time to figure out how. His head is swollen like a balloon and his shoulders feel heavy—not only with the weight of patting hands in congratulations but with the weight of the fucking world. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the end of it. There is his future wrapped up and shoved down his throat without any question of what Dean wants. Can’t turn back now, and most definitely can’t speak out, because his father has been dictating his life from the moment he took his first breath and he has no say over any of it.

This really should be a happy moment but it isn’t, and that’s fucked up. Dean doesn’t want to leave Cas behind, but he sure as hell doesn’t want to stay here, either. Dean’s too scared to take the risk and look at the seat beside him, for fear that it might already be empty. When he does look up, he finds Cas still in his seat, staring down at his lap. The table begins to empty, one person at a time, and the dishes and plates disappear with their owners. Dean and Jo stay back to clear the rest of the table while everyone else goes off into the living room to watch football.

After everything is cleared and the dishes are done, Dean heads upstairs to find Cas sitting on the love seat of his bay window, his body pressed against the glass.

“I was gonna tell you,” Dean says as he enters the room, wondering if he should even bother defending himself. “I just needed to find a good time…and I hadn’t seen a good time yet.”

“It’s fine, Dean.” Cas shrugs and gazes at Dean solemnly. “I knew you were going to be leaving eventually; I just chose to ignore it.”

Taking a seat beside Cas at the window, Dean leans over and kisses him firmly. “I’ll still come home on holidays to visit. We can talk on the phone, and write to each other…”

“Are there any schools in California that you applied to?”

Dean shakes his head, lifting his hand to trail a finger down Cas’ flushed cheek. “No, my dad didn’t let me apply to any schools over here. All the good football ones are Midwest or East Coast.”

“When are you going to stop allowing him to dictate your life for you?” Cas asks bitterly.

Sitting up and away from Cas at the harsh words, Dean spits back, “When are you gonna stop running from shit that scares you?”

Pushing himself off of the love seat Cas glares down at Dean. “I’m not running from anything! Would you like to see me run from my problems? I could do that. I’ve done it before.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you love me then.” Dean looks hopefully to Cas for an answer, watching as his indignant glare fades to one of guilt. Dean feels his uneasiness grow as Cas remains silent, his mouth in a tight line. “Do it.”

The silence stretches itself into the flat line that is Dean’s heartbeat, sucking all life out of the room. A lump forms in Dean’s throat and his eyes sting, so he forces himself to look away as his body slumps against the glass of the window in defeat. This isn’t how it's supposed to be, he thinks. But it is, and there’s no changing that. Dean can’t force Castiel to love him anymore than he can take control of his own future.

“Dean, I’m…”

The anger that rages through his veins is not what he wants nor needs, but somehow it is there and Dean hates himself for it. “Just shut up, Cas. I don’t want a fucking excuse.” He lets the silence fall again and he contemplates leaving, but chooses to stay. “I will wait.” Nodding to convince himself that it’s true, Dean blinks his watery eyes, feeling angry that he would even allow himself to get emotional over this. “I will wait to hear you say it. I will wait for you to let me hold you the way I want to. I will wait to know what the fuck ruined you. But…but I can’t wait fucking forever. I only have so much time on my hands, Cas. If I could wait forever, I would, but I just can’t.”

“It's not that easy, Dean, and you know it isn’t.”

“Yeah, well, telling my dad to go fuck himself isn’t that easy either.”

Swallowing hard and rubbing his hands together, Cas chances a glance at Dean. “So we can't do anything to remedy our shitty situation.”

“No, I guess not.”

Nodding his head in defeat rather than agreement, Cas releases a frustrated sigh. “You have to tell me when you are accepted. I want to know.”

“I will.”

“Sometimes I think I hate you, but then I realize I don’t.” Reaching for Dean’s hand, Cas pulls the shaking boy to his feet. “I just hate your father.”

“Join the club.” Dean continues to keep his head down in an obvious attempt to hide the fact that he is crying. “And fuck, I hate feeling this way.”

Cas maneuvers the both of them to sit on the edge of his bed and rests his hand on Dean’s knee. “What? Helpless?”

“No.” Dean laughs and shakes his head. “Gay.”

It’s the first time he’s said it out loud. The first time he’s admitted it to himself, much less another person. He'd expected to feel lighter, but instead he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders grow, and he feels like he is sinking. His feet found their way into a sinkhole some time ago and he’s up to his chest in it now. Time’s running out, but the clock just keeps ticking away _._ He doesn’t even have to dig his own grave; Time is doing it for him.

He laughs again at the word as it hangs in the air, but his laughter soon shapes itself into something much more sinister as his shoulders shake and his vision blurs. He curls in on himself and keels over to rest his head on Cas’ lap, sobbing uncontrollably onto Cas’ trousers. He wants to take it back now that he’s said it. He wishes it wasn’t true, but so much truth has been spoken tonight and there’s no changing the truth.

He cries it out with the force of a fucking hurricane and Cas lets him fill the room with the loss of what he believed to be his former self. It’s kind of sweet the way Cas doesn’t say anything and just lets Dean be the one to break down, and it’s also kind of sick that this counts as something sweet in their relationship. The world is demented and twisted and Dean hates it all, but he’s gonna put a smile on his face and bear it. He tells himself that he’s doing it for John, but he doesn’t owe John shit. So he tells himself that he’s doing it for his future, although the future he is heading for is not the one he wants.

After the storm inside him settles and returns back to the cold recesses of his mind, he listens to his breath steady, enjoying the feeling of Cas’ fingers in his hair. Three stories below them, they can hear the party roar as someone makes a touchdown on TV. The world goes on.

They know they should go back downstairs, but neither of them wants to. Instead, they lie down beside each other and tangle their limbs together like a cat’s cradle. Their high wore off an hour ago and now their bodies rest heavily with the reality that drugs seem to hide.

*****

“Tomorrow is a special day, Castiel. Are you excited?”

An unsettled feeling rises in his chest and he averts his gaze from Dr. Carter’s. Eye contact is the key to a person’s innermost thoughts, and he is definitely not going to allow her to use that against him. He keeps his mouth shut and stands, walking over to the bookshelves that line the walls of the room instead.

This place is any therapist’s dream office. It has comfortable chairs and stupid trinkets and fucked up patients. Perfect.

“Castiel, I asked you something.” Sharon Carter taps her fingers impatiently against the arm of her chair, watching the boy like a hawk. “I thought that we had gotten over the whole silence thing. I thought that we had learned ways to acknowledge things we do not like and find ways to confront—“

“Would you mind shutting up for once?” Castiel snaps, skimming his fingers across the spine of an old book. “I just need to think of something appropriate to say.”

“Castiel, it is your birthday tomorrow. I don’t understand how you could possibly need to find something appropriate to say about that.” She allows him silence for a few seconds before continuing, “Unless, do you happen to feel that you do not deserve a birthday?”

Castiel gracefully glides back to his seat and settles himself once more, glaring at her with utter contempt. He answers, “Do you ever become bored with weaseling your way into other people’s minds?”

“So you don't deny your obvious feelings of unworthiness.” She raises an eyebrow and writes a note on her pad. Castiel wants to grab the notebook and rip it in two. “Castiel, you surely know that your birthday is a celebration. You do deserve to have a life.”

His blue eyes flicker anxiously to the ground. He hates when she does this. He despises the fact that she knows him well enough to get into his head. She's not wrong—he can give her that. He does not deserve this birthday in any way. Almost seventeen years on this forsaken earth and Castiel still cannot bring himself to accept that he is still breathing. Making it to eighteen is a dream and nightmare combined.

“You deserve to be alive, Castiel.”

Shaking his head and swallowing away the tightness in his throat, Castiel rubs the back of his neck and ducks his head to avoid her gaze. “Can we not talk about this?”

“You have to talk about it eventually.”

“I’m fine,” he lies, scratching the back of his head. “Tomorrow will be fun.”

“You were the only one to survive that house; you must feel some sort of guilt.” She reaches for her coffee to take a sip of it before continuing. “It is common for people who survive traumatic experiences to feel guilty about—“

“I don’t feel guilty.” He breathes out, ignoring the unsettling feeling in his stomach. “And it was hardly traumatic…”

“I beg to differ.”

The unsettled feeling shapes itself into anger and he finds himself biting the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming at her. “You don’t know what happened.”

She nods in agreement. “You’re right. No one does. As I said, you were the only survivor and you refuse to tell us anything that could possibly help you.”

There are reasons for that. Even if he told them what had happened it wouldn’t help anyone. It happened and the world is still spinning and he is still living and nothing helps. They would say that if he told them what happened that night it could give him closure, and give closure to the others who were involved, but how can you give closure to someone who is dead? They would say that _he_ could still get closure and he would ask them again: how can you give closure to someone who is dead? How awful, they would think, the poor kid thinks he is dead when he is clearly still breathing. And he would wait for them to shuffle away, knowing they'll return again in a few months’ time.

“How are the nightmares?” She leans forward, resting her arms on her knees, and tries her best to make eye contact with him.

“Bloody.”

She cocks her head to one side. “Whose blood?”

He looks at her then, finding himself wishing that she could know and understand what he’s been through without him having to actually tell her. “Everyone’s.”

He thinks about the blood, his gaze falling to the floor as his mind wanders off to a dream he had a few nights ago. _There was so much blood._ It was crimson and sticky, splattered on the walls, but the room was black with no lights or doors or windows. Shackled and chained and covered in crimson goo sat Dean in a rickety wooden chair. Standing above him with a knife in his hand stood Alistair, smiling at Castiel wickedly before he slit Dean’s throat. Cas listened to the gurgling screams of Dean choking on his own blood before he woke up screaming himself.

Other nights it’s Meg.

Other nights it’s his mother.

Other nights it’s Jo.

Most nights, though, he is sitting alone in an empty black room when Alistair comes in. What happens next changes from one dream to the next. It almost always ends with him being degraded and near death only to have Alistair leave him alive, just so he can come back the next night and ruin Castiel all over again.

These are the reasons why Castiel doesn’t tell her, because why would he burden another human being with the hell inside his head? That is not helpful, it’s inhumane. He will never see the good in pouring his heart out to another person and he will never see the good in letting others know how weak you truly are. That is not helpful, it’s stupid.

“Castiel.” Her voice is soft yet firm, and she’s staring at him with concern now. “You look pale. Do you want some water?”

“I shouldn’t be alive.” He says it quietly, knowing she can hear him. “I should have died in that house like all the others. It’s not fair…”

She pats his hand softly, sitting on the edge of her seat now so she can reach him. Her eyes are clouded with worry, and also something that resembles excitement. “You must feel that it’s not fair that none of the others survived with you and—“

He snaps his head up to stare at her in utter disbelief. “No, you idiot. It’s not fair that they got to die and I'm still here on this miserable planet with all these fucked up thoughts!” He’s tired and he hasn’t slept in days, but the anger builds and he can’t help but stand up and yell at her. “I don’t want to be here! I can’t sleep and I can barely bring myself to eat. The only thing that I have remotely close to happiness is the feeling I get when I spend time with Dean, and I even manage to screw that up half the time!”

Sharon does not flinch at his harsh words. She just cocks her head slightly and raises an eyebrow. “Who’s Dean?

“None of your business.”

“A friend?”

He looks at the clock and instantly quiets, nodding a goodbye. “Time’s up. See you in two weeks.” As he walks out the door she shouts something about him having a happy birthday. Happy…there’s no such thing.

*****

“Happy birthday dear Castiel!” The crowd choruses as Ellen walks into the room, placing a yellow birthday cake with candles sticking out of it in front of him. They continue singing as Castiel waits awkwardly for the song to finish. What else are you supposed to do when a group sings 'Happy Birthday' to you? “Happy Birthday to you!”

Jo shouts, “Make a wish!”

The crowd erupts into laughing and clapping as Castiel blows the flames out on all seventeen of his candles, wishing for the nightmares to go away. He doesn’t need a car, he needs a good night’s sleep. Behind him, Dean slaps his hand down onto Cas’ shoulder in a friendly gesture and beams down at him, but his hand lingers on Castiel’s back and its presence relieves him. He fights the urge to reach up and kiss that stupid grin off of Dean’s face.

Everyone gets a slice of cake, and Castiel makes his rounds of the people invited to his party. He looks up to find Dean staring at him with an odd expression that he catches Dean with every so often. He knows that look, but he isn’t going to mention it or acknowledge its meaning. Realizing what he’s doing, Dean looks down with pink tinting his cheeks and Castiel has to grab hold of the wall as he goes into one of his dizzy spells.

He feels heavy, as if he is balancing a large stone atop his shoulders and the weight of it is dragging him down. He can’t seem to find a way to relieve the stress of his sleepless nights. He used to put a blade to his skin to calm his nerves, but he promised Dean he would stop hurting himself, no matter how much self-restraint it takes. He manages a deep breath to chase the dizziness away before he straightens and resumes walking around the room talking to people.

The night wears on. One by one, the guests leave until only Dean, Sam, and Jessica remain.

“It was so great to hang out with you, Castiel. I hope you had great night.” Jessica smiles sweetly, her voice like music. She hugs him tightly and releases him to turn to Sam. “Can you walk me home?”

Sam nods, slapping Castiel’s back affectionately. “Happy Birthday, Cas. Hope you like the books I got you—try not to read them too quickly.”

Waving as they head out the door, Castiel beams. “I’ll try not to, Sam. Have a safe walk home. Thanks for coming.”

“Dean, are you gonna come home tonight or are you staying here?”

“I’m staying here,” Dean responds, looking back at Cas. “I promised him a sleepover-type deal.”

“Alright, night guys.” Sam smiles knowingly, closing the front door behind him. As soon as the door clicks shut, Dean has Cas pinned against the nearest wall with his lips fervently trailing their way down Castiel’s neck. Shoving a leg between Castiel’s parted thighs, Dean groans quietly against his skin. “I’ve wanted to do this all fucking night.”

Dean works his way up to Castiel’s mouth. When their lips finally meet, Castiel is afraid his knees might give out on him. Dean kisses him with the intention to keep going until neither of them can think straight. Castiel feels dizzy again, but for an entirely different reason this time—something to do with Dean using his tongue to explore every inch of his mouth. He grips desperately to the front of Dean’s shirt, knowing that it will wrinkle if he keeps clinging to it. He forces himself to push Dean away so that he can blurt out, “Anyone could come downstairs and see us right now…”

Dean releases a huffed laugh before slipping his hands beneath Castiel’s shirt and using his blunt fingernails to scratch his chest playfully. “Let them,” he replies before he returns to sucking more marks onto Castiel’s long neck, but Castiel shoves him off again. He grabs Dean’s hand and whispers, “Come upstairs with me.”

They walk up hand in hand, not saying a word to one another. Only when the door of Castiel’s bedroom is closed behind them does Dean say break the silence. “Happy Birthday. I got you something else, besides the music I already gave you.”

“Dean, I told you not to get me anything in the first place.”

He pulls something out of his back pocket and comes closer, reaching out to grab Castiel’s wrist and wrap a simple bracelet around it. “I got it at some store, and you just tell them what to put on it so I told them anything blue—because that’s your favorite color—and my initials.” Dean clasps the bracelet and squeezes Castiel’s hand lovingly, explaining, “So even when I’m gone, you’ll always have me closer than you think.”

Castiel fingers the charms and beads on the braided bracelet, taking the letter “D” between two fingers and then brushing his thumb over the “W”.  He turns his head up to look at Dean. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”

Their lips meet again, much softer this time, as if both of them were just craving the feathery feel of lips on skin. Castiel wishes for it to be rougher than this, because this feels too much like love and Castiel cannot allow himself that satisfaction. Dead people shouldn’t feel love—it’s just not natural—but Dean’s hands glide their way up Castiel’s arms to safely perch on his shoulders, where Dean’s fingers play with the tips of Castiel’s dark hair. He can feel the urge to turn himself into something carnal, as if it might make the true emotions disappear, but he forces the thought away and focuses on being what Dean deserves.

He reaches for the hem of Dean’s shirt and pulls it over the boy's head, then does the same to himself. They stand apart for a moment, just looking at one another. Castiel wants to run for fear that it might hurt, but he knows that it really is time to give in to it.

Dean lifts his hand and brushes his fingertips down his abdomen, murmuring, “You are so gorgeous.” Castiel sucks in a heavy breath when Dean reaches for his hip and pulls their bodies together. Dean cups his head in his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes, and whispers, “I don’t want to do anything except lie down with you and sleep. That's all I want.”

“But I thought we could—“

Shaking his head, never leaving Castiel’s gaze, Dean interrupts him. “No, I just want to hold you for a night. That’s all I want to do.”

Castiel doesn’t argue, just removes his shoes and jeans and crawls onto the full-sized bed, waiting for Dean to join him. He perches on the edge and watches Dean undress. Dean pads his way across the room to sit next to Castiel, pulling the younger boy to his chest and lying down across the lower half of the mattress.

“I want to remember you like this,” Castiel blurts out quietly against the soft skin of Dean’s chest, circling Dean’s bellybutton with his index finger. “I don’t ever want to forget what it feels like to be loved.”

“I’m not gonna let you forget.” Dean presses a kiss to the top of Castiel’s head and mutters, “Never gonna let you forget.”

*****

_“New kid is coming in soon,” Meg announces as she struts into Castiel’s small bedroom. She runs her dainty fingers along the bed frame and looks down at Castiel from the end of his bed. “He’s young.”_

_“How young?” Castiel lays the book he was reading off to the side and uses his elbows to sit up. “Younger than me?”_

_“You’re fifteen, I hardly call that young, Castiel.”_

_“No, when I got here I was fourteen. I believe that is rather young.”_

_She rolls her eyes and glances over her shoulder at the door nervously. “He’s probably around twelve. His name is Samandriel.”_

_“How does Alistair keep getting away with this shit?” Forcing himself up, Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I mean, what even happened to the kids before us? Why haven’t they reported him or something?”_

_Meg lowers her voice, taking a seat beside Castiel. “I don’t think they can.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“I think he’s killed them and then reports them as missing or runaways.”_

_“Are you serious?” Castiel sputters in disbelief, shaking his head furiously. “Don’t you think that’s suspicious?”_

_She shrugs indifferently, lowering her gaze to the floor. “I don’t think anyone would believe us if we told, and anyways what can they do?”_

_“Put him in jail, perhaps.”_

_“We both know this system is fucked up.” Brushing the hair from her eyes she stares at him in question. “Where would we go after that? Home? We’d be stuck with some other sick bastard.”_

_“A kid can dream, Meg.” Glaring at her now, he wonders why she can’t be a little more optimistic. “There is still hope.”_

_“I don’t believe in hope,” she spits out angrily. “And you shouldn’t either.”_

_From down the hall, Castiel can hear the tell-tale sound of Alistair’s twisted whistle approaching._ He knows this is when it gets bad, when the memory will morph into nightmare. There is no fighting it, because his mind is killing him from the inside out.

 _The door slams open and Alistair shouts, “Look! I’ve brought a surprise for you!” In Alistair’s hand, he holds the severed head of the one and only Dean Winchester. Castiel…_ screams. He wakes up screaming and thrashing in his bed, pushing the arms that were wrapped so firmly around him away and falling out of bed onto the hardwood floor.

“Cas! Cas, baby, look at me.” Dean scrambles out of bed to fall on the floor beside him, clutching Castiel’s shaking head in his hands. “It was a nightmare. It was just a dream. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

“Safe,” Castiel echoes vacantly, his screams dying away. “Just a dream.” Castiel feels odd, looking into the green of Dean’s eyes. This place and this moment feel more like a dream than his nightmares do. His nightmares feel more real than reality itself, or at least the pain that accompanies his dreams is so real. He shoots forward, hooking his arms around Dean’s neck and hanging onto him like his life depended on it. Choking through the sob that works its way into his throat, Castiel cries, “I love you.” And then this moment and place really don’t feel real, because he’s only said that in his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a late post! Will try to update more often. Thanks for reading as always. :) Any questions/comments please leave a message.


	10. Chapter 10

_Swinging from the rope that hangs from a grey sky—her skin blue and cold and blue and cold—please, don’t touch her! The house is too quiet and she is too quiet and God is too quiet for this to all be real. Please, don’t let this be real. That Almighty Deity is not listening to his silent prayers anymore, or perhaps It never was. Swinging and swinging and swinging. Lie on the floor and drown the silence out with screaming to forget the swinging of a long-lost soul. Tick tock goes the clock on the wall and she keeps hanging there, blue and cold. Hang a sign on the door that says this boy’s mother is—_

Castiel wakes, coughing and choking on his incoherent sobs, the sound of it breaking his own heart. The world can be so cruel at night, when the light of day cannot illuminate the evils that hide in the shadows of his mind. He stopped taking his sleeping pills weeks ago, feeling that the dreams, always frighteningly realistic, were only becoming more vivid.

He restlessly climbs out of bed and dresses in the dark room. It is the day. It is the day that he hates most of all and he wishes that he could go back to sleep and fall into a never-ending coma, but he must face this day even though it nearly kills him every year. He removes the books from his backpack and stuffs it full of warm clothing and all the money that he has before quietly sneaking out of the house and onto the foggy street. He stares longingly at the Winchesters' quiet colonial home, wishing he could climb the side of the house and let himself into Dean’s window…but he needs to see her today and Dean doesn’t need to know that.

He walks to the bus stop and waits alone for the first bus. It will take him where he needs to be today and that is all that matters. Once the bus pulls up he pays the driver, a tired middle-aged black woman who asks, “Running from something?”

Castiel desperately wants to tell her that he is running from himself, but that would not go over well, so he settles for a small smile and replies, “Just needing a day away.”

He chooses a seat in the back and pulls his windbreaker tighter around him as he rests his head against the glass. The sky is still dark grey. It’s early in the morning and the world is solemn before dawn, as if still recuperating from the death that is night. Soon there will be rebirth and then, once again, another death.

*****

Jo gets up to find that she has slept the entire night alone, which is unusual considering that Cas comes to sleep with her almost every night. Maybe he slept through for once, or maybe he had a particularly bad spell and decided to leave her out of it. Either way, she goes to check on him to make sure everything is alright.

Castiel’s room is empty. She stands in the doorway and sees the books on the floor in a heap and the dresser drawers opened and half-empty. She sees the note folded neatly on top of the blue comforter of his freshly-made bed. With shaky hands she picks it up and reads:

_Family/Friends,_

_I need to do this. See you soon._

_Stay strong._

_-Castiel._

Crumpling the paper in her hands she races down the stairs, screaming for Ellen. _Don’t let this be real,_ she thinks. _Please don’t let this be real._

To her disappointment it is real, and Ellen does what she can under the circumstances. She calls everyone she knows and asks them to look out for Cas. She calls the police station and two officers come to the house. They tell the Singers what they always tell the Singers: that it hasn’t been 48 hours yet and they cannot file a missing persons report until that time has passed. They tell the Singers that it is common for foster children to run away (as if they didn’t already know that), but Jo argues anyway, saying that Cas is different—Cas likes it here. The officers look down at her trembling form with something between pity and understanding before nodding and returning to the outside world.

“I’m going to take the car and go look for him,” Jo blurts out before her mom can even suggest going to school. “I can’t go to school today…I won’t be able to focus.”

Ellen reminds her, “What about Dean?”

“I’ll tell him later…he has a test today and needs to focus. This will only make it harder for him anyway.”

She forces herself out the door and onto the cold street, wondering which way she should go first, but it doesn’t really matter. There is no map to finding lost kids.

*****

Her name was Hope. She had bright blue eyes and black hair and a smile that could create world peace. She suffered from depression and a belief that God would save her. She had a life, and a family that seemed happy, and then she didn’t. There should be more to it than that, but in truth, there is nothing more to be said about her. She died too young—perhaps not as young as some of the other lost souls of this earth, but she died young enough for it to be a waste.

In the end, though, isn’t every life a waste? That’s what Castiel has come to believe, at least. Castiel’s experience with life hasn’t given him much of a reason to keep on living, and maybe it’s the fact that he is living without reason to live that is such a waste. It doesn’t matter anyway, because everyone will end up _here_ , and there is no changing that.

Castiel stares hard at the ground in front of him, searching for answers in the brown grass and gritty gravel. The graveyard is pretty in December—not the type of pretty that is green and bright and blossoming, but a bitter pretty that has a receding cold light that infuses the lonely lot, illuminating the loss that it represents.

There are rows and rows of headstones. Some are huge. Some aren’t. Some have beautiful epitaphs. Some don’t. The big, massive marble headstones are almost always those of the wealthy, and the smallest headstones—the ones that are just plaques with the date of birth the same day as the date of death—are miscarried unborn babies. Castiel isn’t sure what is more depressing: to have it all and to lose it or to never even be given the chance to lose anything.

He cries. He sheds tears for the wealthy, fat men with their trophy wives left behind sitting on stacks and stacks of money. He weeps for the unborn babies who were never given even that first breath of life. He cries for his father. He aches for his mother. He collapses before a plain, medium-sized headstone marked “Hope” and wonders when he gave it up. His tears hit the grass and are soaked into the soil and absorbed into his mother’s bones. He hopes the salt gives her life, even in death.

Crawling up to the headstone, he rests against it, wrapping his coat tight around himself. In the distance an old man places flowers before a grave. Castiel curses himself for forgetting to bring her flowers.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he sighs, tracing his fingers along the etchings of her name. He struggles to keep his voice steady. “I haven’t been eating or sleeping or taking my medication. I see him everywhere. I see you everywhere.” He takes a shaky breath, the tears welling up in his eyes as the cold air pierces his lungs. The wind sends a shiver through his body. “Life is so cruel and people are so pointless.” The cold stone presses against his cheek. “I wish I wasn’t human.”

He closes his eyes and listens to the wind calling his name, telling him nonsense secrets that he will never need to keep. The wind whispers to him to sleep beside his mother, curled in a ball, waiting for the world to change.

When he wakes, he doesn’t know what time it is or how he is going to get back. He touches his mother’s headstone one last time, pressing his lips to the cool granite before standing.

“I’m going to go now,” he announces to the empty cemetery. No one is listening. No one is ever listening. “I’ll come back for your birthday…”

He walks out of the cemetery and down the road, wondering where it might take him.

*****

“Mom! What’s for dinner?” Throwing his backpack onto the floor, Dean jogs into the kitchen where his mother cautiously turns around to face him, a small frown imprinted on her beautiful complexion. His brow furrows with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Dean, it’s about Cas, sweetie.” For a second the world stops and Dean feels his stomach drop. This can’t be happening. It’s too soon. “I need you to stay calm…He left a note and they can’t find him anywhere. He's just…gone.”

Her words hang in the air and settle into his brain, waiting for a response that won't come. He takes two fumbling steps until his back is against the wall before he pushes himself off of it and runs out the side door and across the street, ignoring his mother’s shouts and pleas to come back inside.

Bursting through the door of the Singer’s house, determination and fury rushing through him, Dean shouts, “Where the hell is the fucking note?” All the teenagers sitting at the kitchen table twist in their seats to look upon the frustrated boy demanding answers. They remain silent as they gaze at him and then at each other, taking an unnecessary amount of time to come up with something to say. Dean slams the door behind him and stomps over, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Where the hell is he?”

Once again, Dean waits for an answer, but no one speaks up. He pushes past Ellen as she enters the room and he rushes up the stairs. He kicks open Cas’ cracked door and yanks all of the dresser drawers open, flinging the items within all over the room in search of something…anything. There has to be a clue.

He moves on to the bookshelf where he accidentally knocks a snow globe to the floor; it shatters in a watery heap of glass at his feet. Stepping over the mess, Dean moves to the bed. He throws the blankets and comforter off, half expecting to find Cas lying there beneath the sheets. Upon seeing the empty mattress, Dean yells in rage and shoves it off of the frame.

The room falls silent after his scream fades away and he stands in the center of the wreckage that a fucking tornado must have caused. That tornado must be the fear of Cas leaving that had resided within Dean since the day they first spoke.

Dean’s back hits the wall as the tears blur his vision; he falls to the floor in a heap. The room feels desolate, ugly, and painful. Slamming his fist on the floor, venting something between rage and frustrated agony, Dean feels the sharp pain of glass cutting into his hand, leaving him with nothing to do but to cry out. His entire body is shaking with sobs and he curses himself for being so fucking weak.

“So fucking selfish. Selfish, selfish, selfish…” Dean whimpers to the empty room. He isn’t even sure who he's talking about. He just knows that this hurts. He had hoped that creating chaos would make him feel better, but he was wrong.

The room smells like iron and he feels so fucking empty, but now he can see the folded piece of binder paper perched on the edge of the bay window’s love seat. He forces himself up, stabbing more glass into his palms and wincing as he walks hesitantly over to read it.

Each scribbled word tears a bit of Dean’s heart away, leaves him feeling a little emptier. He curls forward, resting his head against the wall and retching out a trembling sob as he crumples the letter in his bloody hand. The glass embedded in the flesh of his palm cuts deeper and it’s a welcome distraction from the pain in the very core of his being. Inching his way down the wall, he feels his knees hit the floor and he presses his forehead against the cool wood, praying that the note isn’t what he thinks it is.

“Dean…” Jo interrupts his terrible heartbreak with a soft voice, and then stops, cautiously making her way over to him. She kneels down beside him, careful not to step on any glass. Reaching up and brushing her thumb affectionately across his forehead, she sighs. “He’s probably just…”

“Dead.” Careful not to make eye contact, Dean clears his sore throat. “He kissed me goodbye yesterday like any other fucking day and now he isn’t here.”

“He isn’t dead, Dean. He wouldn’t do that to you,” she counters defensively, her hope wavering in her voice.

“Because he loves me, right?” Dean’s bitter laugh slices the air in the room as he brings his eyes up to meet hers. Her face falls at the sight of his tearful eyes, and he spits out the words angrily, “He doesn’t love me.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Cas can’t feel love, Jo, because he doesn’t know what the hell it is,” Dean snaps back, his voice shaky and unstable. “I thought I had more time…”

“He could come back, Dean,” she murmurs, pulling his head to her chest and listening to the violent breath that escapes his lungs. “You know how they do this sometimes. Maybe today is one of those days that he just needs to be alone.”

Dean’s voice is flat with defeat. “He hates being alone.”

“It doesn’t matter. Maybe he needed it anyway.” She rubs soothing circles with her palm flat against his back, but it doesn’t chase away the stabbing pain in his stomach. Her touch is comforting, but only slightly. “I have faith that he will come back.”

Faith has evaded Dean for a long time. He wishes desperately to have some sort of belief that there is good in the world, that people are good. He hasn’t found it yet.

He tries to sit up, but only manages to dig the glass deeper into his flesh, forcing him to wince and suck in a sharp whine of pain. “Jo, I think I need to go to the emergency room to get some stitches.” It could be worse, and he wishes it was. “Can you drive me there?”

She helps him to his feet and then down the stairs, careful not to touch his hands. They drive in silence to the hospital, and the entire time they wait Jo rubs his back as if it could actually do him any good. After what feels like hours, Dean is taken to a room and the doctor comes in to pick the glass from his hands. Once he's stitched up, Dean and Jo go back out onto the frigid night.

“I wonder where he is,” Jo breathes to the cold. “I wonder what he's doing.”

Dean doesn’t bother answering her because he has nothing worth saying. They drive back to the Singer’s house. Dean doesn’t bother going in; he says goodbye to Jo and returns to his own home, where he finds the living room empty. His dad is out playing poker like any normal Thursday night, but tonight is not any Thursday night and Dean wishes everyone would recognize that.

He goes into the kitchen and does his homework like always, but even after his homework is finished he just sits there, waiting for a phone call that may or may not make this a normal Thursday. A few hours pass. Mary comes downstairs for a glass of water in the middle of the night to find Dean staring blankly at the phone on the wall.

She places her hand on his shoulder and he doesn’t jump like she expects him to; he just releases a deep sigh with his gaze still fixed on the phone. “He just left. I can’t freaking believe it.”

“You should go to bed, Dean.”

“You-you know, don’t you?” Dean stammers out, his carefully collected appearance wearing down in the dead of night. He wipes at his damp cheeks with the back of his bandaged hands. “About me and Cas. You know?”

She brushes his hair back with her hand, tilting his eyes to meet hers and nods. “I know, Dean. I’ve known for a while.”

“He is so fucked up…” Dean admits, knowing he shouldn’t be telling his mother this, but he can’t help it. He rests his head against her side with an exasperated sigh, choking a little on his next words. “I need him. I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

Mary smiles faintly, knowing how much her son must be hurting right now. “We all need someone, Dean.”

“I picked someone pretty inconvenient to need then…” Dean mumbles.

She leans down and wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind, murmuring against his ear. “Love is always inconvenient.”

*****

Castiel fingers the charms on his bracelet as he sits on the bus, knowing that his next destination is coming up. He looks out the window, watching the passing vineyards and beautiful fields. It took him years to even try to track his estranged father down and even longer to work up the courage to come and see him. The bus stops and Castiel gathers his things before exiting onto the sidewalk.

He knows where his father lives and where he works. This isn’t the first time Castiel has come to the small town of Lodi, California, but it is the first time Castiel actually has the intention of confronting the man. His father’s work place is two blocks from the bus station. Castiel starts walking.

The city’s downtown is charming and rather small with many old brick buildings and local businesses. He rounds a corner and stands before the one and only “Novak Real Estate.” It wasn’t that difficult to find a real estate agent by the name of Robert Novak. Castiel thought his father was intelligent enough to at least change his name after skipping out on him and his mother, but apparently he's not as bright as Castiel had believed him to be.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel pushes the office doors open and takes a few shuffling steps into the room. His eyes flit around the room nervously before settling on a man at a desk. His hair is greying and his face is worn, but Castiel recognizes pieces of himself in the older man’s face.

Robert Novak scribbles something on the papers before him. “I will be right with you,” he says without looking up from his work and Castiel feels like a child again, asking his father to come outside and play catch with him. Robert quickly writes one more thing down before turning his head up to a sight he probably never thought he would see again. His eyes grow wide and he leans back in his chair, observing the boy in front of him. Finally he stammers out, “Castiel? You-you’ve grown.”

“I would hope so,” Castiel answers coldly. “That is typically what is supposed to happen when time passes.”

Robert Novak awkwardly fumbles out of his chair and walks around to the front of his desk, stopping only a few feet away from Castiel. “How old are you now?”

“I just turned seventeen two weeks ago.”

“You look like a man…” Robert sputters, and then it dawns on him to ask, “How is your mother? God, it's been so long.”

“She’s dead,” Castiel states coldly, tilting his head to the side. He'd expected more from his father, but he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. The man did leave his family with nothing but broken hearts. “You honestly didn’t know that?”

“My god, no. I had no idea. Is that why you’re here?” Robert takes a step closer to Castiel with the intention to place a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder, but Castiel shifts away. He doesn’t want this man touching him. “Do you need a place to stay?”

“No.” Castiel shakes his head, scoffing in disbelief. “She died when I was eleven, you idiot. I’ve been in foster care for the last six years of my life.”

“I’m so sorry.” Dropping his head in shock, Robert asks, “How did she die?”

It doesn’t hurt to say it now. “She killed herself.”

“Oh my lord…I always knew that woman was selfish.”

This is the moment Castiel has been waiting for—the moment that simply confirms the image he'd had of his father before he came here. Part of him doesn’t want to believe it, but Castiel knows that the truth is that his father is an arrogant, self-righteous prick.

Laughing bitterly, Castiel looks at the man before him and realizes he does not know this person at all. This man is not his father. He is a stranger. “And what you did wasn’t selfish? You both fucking left me! For all I knew, you were dead too, and quite frankly, you are still dead to me.”

“That is no way to talk to your father!”

“Oh, would you just shut the fuck up?” Castiel snaps in fury, wondering why he thought this was a good idea. “I came here so you could see what you’ve done to me. I came here thinking that maybe you might feel some sort of remorse for putting me in the situation I am in now.”

Pointing a finger at him, Robert Novak shouts. “You do not get to come here and—“

“I can do whatever the fuck I want! No one on this shitty planet gives a damn about me and nothing is stopping me.” Castiel knows he is lying about that—there is Dean. Dean cares about him. But Dean isn’t here right now and Castiel needs to say this. “Why did you leave?” He feels the words catching in his throat. “Because…I rack my brain every day trying to think of a reason why you would leave me.”

“I was having an affair and I decided I was happier with the other woman I was seeing…” Robert’s voice fades, never finishing the thought.

“And how, exactly, did that work out?”

Robert Novak’s eyes grow darker with anger, and he spits out, “Elisabeth and I were quite happy for a long time, but she passed away from cancer two years ago. Listen, you must forgive me, Castiel, for turning my back on you.”

Castiel ignores him, eyeing the framed portrait of his father’s new family. The photo features Robert with his arm wrapped around the waist of a petite blonde woman, with two small children standing in front of them. It hurts for a moment, knowing that his father left him for this family, a family that he was not included in even though he easily could have been.

Lifting his somber eyes to Robert, Castiel takes a step back towards the door. “I cannot do that, not after everything. Not after all that I’ve been through, just because you preferred screwing a woman that wasn’t my mother. I can’t do that.”

“Come now, Castiel. Tell me what is so terrible that you’ve experienced, it cannot be so bad that you cannot forgive me for leaving.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he counters dejectedly. “At least have the decency to check the newspaper for my obituary when it comes, alright?” Taking one last glance at the man in front of him, Castiel hurries out the door of the office and back onto the street. He runs down the brick sidewalk until his lungs feel like fire and his heart feels as though it might pound out of his chest. He runs and runs, and then he stops at a payphone and makes a call, because he would really like to be found now. The phone rings and rings and rings, until finally he hears the tell-tale click of the phone being answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Okay so, I feel that I should probably give you some sort of insight on who I am and what is going on, because all I've been doing is replying to your comments but I feel that you still know very little about the fic and myself. This fic is going to be long. I plan for it to be around 30-40 chapters, and that is a rough estimate, so please, stay tuned. I'm trying to write as much as I can, whenever I can, but with it being my final year of high school I need to focus a lot of my studies and I'm also making a film with my friends so that takes up a lot of my time. With that being said, I do not plan on abandoning this fic. I am going to finish and I will finish it at my own pace, so please, be patient. I know I can take up to a month to post at times, but I try to write decently long chapters for you all and I'm really picky about it having to absolutely perfect before I send it off. If you want to follow me on tumblr, my username is casbelieves, and my twitter & instagram is @uhitsjoslynn. Thank you all so much for reading! Please leave any comments/questions you have and if you know of anyone who might enjoy this fanfic as much as you do, recommend it to a friend.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean stares at the kitchen table, listening to his family laughing at whatever show they are watching in the living room this Saturday night. It’s been three miserable days since Cas disappeared and Dean feels so fucking empty, like he lost something really important but he can’t remember what it is. There is a sense of overall loss, as though Cas’ absence has affected everything in Dean’s life.

He leans forward and finishes the last problem of his math assignment. Leaning back again, he closes the textbook and stares at the wooden table for a moment, contemplating whether or not it is worth it to leave the phone unattended in order to shower. It's been three days…if Cas hasn’t called by now, Dean isn’t sure he ever will.

Reluctantly, he leaves the kitchen and goes upstairs to shower, allowing the hot steam to clear his foggy head, but the clearness lasts all of ten minutes before he is making his way downstairs again, wearing loose pajama bottoms and Cas’ favorite of Dean’s sweatshirts. He can hear the phone ringing as he crosses the living room towards the kitchen, and his heart skips a beat when he reaches the doorway just as his father picks up the phone and answers with a gruff, “Hello?” His blank expression morphs into blatant annoyance and rage within seconds of picking up the phone and he growls back into the receiver without even acknowledging Dean’s presence, “Listen here, kid.”

Dean takes a quick step into the kitchen, pointing at the phone and urgently asking, “Is that Cas?” John waves his hand in dismissal as he continues on, “You better get your ass home, but don’t expect us to come get you. Call your folks and they—”

“Dad! Who is it?” Dean dives across the small space of the kitchen and fervently attempts to wrestle the phone from his father’s firm grip, pleading, “Dad, give me the phone. Is it Cas?”

“Dammit Dean, you ain’t gonna be the one to save him.”

Ignoring his father, Dean finally snatches the phone and brings it to his ear, hesitantly whispering, “Cas?”

“Dean?” Cas’ voice comes clearly through the phone. Dean wants to scream with joy, but his body is frozen.

Dean releases the shaky breath he was holding and rests his head against the wall. The relief is solid and sound and in the form of Castiel’s heavy breathing that Dean can hear through the telephone. “Where are you?”

“I’m in Lodi; it’s about two hours away. Can you come get me?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way. Where do I pick you up?”

The line is silent for a moment. “At the public library. I will wait outside until you come get me.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.” Dean replies, and he waits for a goodbye but he just hears a click and the line goes dead. Then he is rushing through the house to find his shoes and his jacket and his car keys, but just as he is about to head out the door, his dad stops him. John stares at his son and demands, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Cas just called and asked me to pick him up.” Dean answers, fumbling to pull on his shoes, ungracefully leaning against the wall for support. “I’m going to go get him.”

“Like hell you are!” John snaps, pointing at Dean with a menacing finger. “You are staying right here. Let the Singers take care of that kid. He ain’t your problem.”

“But he is my problem, and I’m going to go get him.”

As if he cannot believe the words coming out of Dean’s mouth, John takes longer than necessary to decide what to say next, which only allows Dean more time to pull on his other shoe and open the front door. John’s about to unleash hell, but Dean slips out the door and slams it behind him. He runs to his car and drives away, leaving his father yelling at him from the doorway.

The highway is surprisingly empty for a Saturday night. Dean tries his best to stay below the speed limit, but his mind is everywhere but the road. In two hours, he will see Cas again, and the thought brings an overwhelming, confusing mixture of relief and anger.

He tightens his grip on the wheel, wincing when the cuts on his hands react to the pressure. His eyes shift from the road to his bandaged hands for a fraction of a second, forcing Dean to realize that he might actually have to tell Cas how he got those cuts. A nauseating feeling turns his stomach at the thought. Weakness is not something Dean is willing to admit, and admitting it to Cas just seems that much worse. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that, even though he appears to be pretty freaking weak, Cas is one of the strongest people Dean knows, and it is intimidating to admit weakness to people who have none. Sighing deeply, he chases the uneasy thoughts away by turning on the radio and just focusing on the mindless sounds.

Once he turns onto the street that the library is on, Dean’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest at the sight of Cas perched like a bird on a bench in front of the building. Cas takes his time walking over and climbing into Dean’s car, maybe because he knows Dean is about to chew him out. The door shuts and they sit in silence.

“You left,” Dean says simply, not knowing what to say now that he is finally here. He spent the entire drive thinking of everything he was going to yell at Cas, but now he can’t recall a single bit of it. “You were just gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

Looking down at his hands in his lap, Dean points out with a bitter scoff, “No you aren’t.”

Silence ensues, leaving Dean feeling just as empty as he had been when Cas was gone. He still hurts. Instead of confronting the obvious problems, Dean decides to find a motel and get a room; he’s too tired to drive all the way back home and Cas looks like he needs a fucking shower.

They retire to room eight and Cas instantly excuses himself to the bathroom. Dean listens to the sound of a shower starting and he tiredly undresses to t-shirt and boxers before he sits at the end of the bed, dropping his head into hands and exhaling a long sigh. He stays like that even when he hears the shower shut off and the bathroom door open.

“Dean?”

Lifting his head, Dean turns to find Cas by the door of the bathroom with only a towel hanging loosely from his hips. He shifts his gaze up to Cas’ face and hums, “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

Dean doesn’t answer because he doesn’t know what he should say. Being “okay” is subjective—like many things in life—and Dean isn’t sure what kind of “okay” he is today. When the silence stretches on, Cas cautiously makes his way over to stand in front of Dean. He reaches to tilt Dean’s head up with the tip of his finger, but Dean moves defiantly away from his touch.

Castiel’s voice sounds strained when he murmurs, “Please, look at me, Dean, or say something.” Struggling to think of a reply, Dean closes his eyes and tightens his jaw. The waiting or the silence must be too much for Cas, because without warning he drops the towel onto the floor and straddles Dean’s lap completely naked. Dean lifts his hands up in the air and groans in protest, “Oh God, what are you doing? Cas, you aren’t ready for this and we both know it.”

“Just kiss me, okay?” Cas orders, slipping Dean out of his t-shirt and reaching for Dean’s hands to bring them down onto the soft skin of Cas’ sides. Dean lifts Castiel off of him, covering his naked lap with the towel from the floor. He stands and looks down at Cas, wishing he could say that Cas has fallen so far, but he doesn’t really know where Cas even started to begin with.

“I can’t,” he admits in an almost silent whisper. “You do this every single time something bad happens and it is royally fucked up, Cas. You go and do something stupid and then you avoid talking about it by…by doing this.” Dean waves his hands between the two of them. “And-and I’m fucking terrified to touch you because I don’t want to cause one of your freak-outs like the last time…” Cas continues to stare at him with those wide blue eyes and Dean doesn’t know where he is or why he drove two hours for some ordinary fucked-up teenager he could have found on any street. “You can’t just leave like that. I thought that you’d gone and killed yourself or something fucking terrible and it was eatin’ me up inside.”

“I wouldn’t kill myself,” Cas argues half-heartedly. “I have you, so I don’t need to.”

Dean closes his eyes and rubs his eyelids with the flats of his palms. He drops his arms to his sides and replies, “I shouldn’t be the only reason for you to keep on living.”

“I know.” Leaning back on the bed by resting on his elbows, Cas murmurs, “I’m working on all the other reasons. What do you live for?”

The question catches him off-guard. “Life, I guess.”

“Yeah, well, so far I haven’t enjoyed life all that much.”

Dean mulls over those words for a moment and takes a seat beside the naked boy on the bed. Cas leans back and stares at the ceiling. “Why did you leave?”

“I went to visit my mother’s grave.”

“You don’t talk about her very much.” Dean turns onto his side to look at Cas in his raw and vulnerable state. The dim lighting of the room softens the sharp edges of his hipbones and makes his light skin appear creamy. There’s an almost pure glow about him that Dean rarely sees – something resembling innocence. “How did she die?”

“She killed herself.” Cas relaxes his elbows and lowers himself to lie down on the bed completely, keeping his eyes fixated on the ceiling. “My father was your typical white-collar Christian man and my mother was your typical dutiful Christian wife. He was always barking orders and she was always following them, and then he just left. Freedom was a length of a rope and she hung herself with it, I suppose.”

“I, I had no idea…” Dean sputters. He reaches out a gentle hand to brush Cas’ hair from his eyes, only to find them brimming with tears. Those eyes are so damn pretty, but they’ve seen too much. “I thought it had been a car crash or something.”

“I wish.”

It occurs to Dean that he should probably ask. “Who found her?”

“I did,” Cas replies, keeping his gaze fixed above his head, continuing to avoid Dean’s worried gaze. “I came home from school and she was just…hanging there. I remember cutting her down and then lying down next to her until the neighbors came by to drop off something they had borrowed.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean murmurs into Cas’ thick hair, tightening his arms around the shivering boy. Relief washes over him with every steady breath coming from Cas’ lungs as Dean realizes that he finally got Cas to tell him something. Sometimes he will drop little hints about his past but this, this is a huge step forward, or at least that’s what Dean hopes. He rubs Cas’ back until he seems to have fallen into a relatively deep sleep, then he drapes a blanket over the naked boy before shuffling into the small bathroom.

*****

For the first time in two months, Castiel wakes peacefully. The shock of the calm awakening is so beautiful he cries tears of joy for the first time in his life. He wakes to sunlight streaming in through the motel room curtains and a heavy arm resting on top of his waist. He can feel Dean pressed against his back and he smiles, feeling tears welling in his eyes. Trying his best not to wake Dean, Castiel turns around to face the sleeping teenager.

Looking at Dean now, he feels refreshed knowing that he'd actually revealed some piece of his past to Dean. Reaching his hand up to Dean’s face, he traces the curve of his brow with his finger and admires just how beautiful Dean truly is. So beautiful, in fact, that Castiel is rather worried; if he tells Dean everything, he might lose some of that beauty—if that is possible.

Suddenly, Dean lets out a soft annoyed groan, “Cas, why’re you touching my face?”

Castiel smiles in spite of himself, trailing his thumb down the bridge of Dean’s nose and around the outline of his lips. He only slows to slightly drag the pad of his thumb across Dean’s plump bottom lip. “You are just so exhaustingly beautiful, like a dream, I have to make sure you're real.”

Releasing another tired groan, Dean shoves Castiel playfully. “Knock it off.”

“I’m sorry about leaving.”

“I know,” Dean responds without opening his eyes. “You really freaked me out. I had a bit of a meltdown.”

“Is that how you got these?” Castiel touches Dean’s bandaged hands. “What did you break?”

“Does it matter?”

Castiel presses his thumb against the indent of Dean’s chin affectionately, shaking his head and answering, “No, I suppose it doesn’t. I was only curious.” And it is then that he realizes his state. “Dean, I’m naked.”

“Yeah, I know.” Curling his arm around Cas’ bare waist, Dean pulls the boy closer and scatters soft open-mouthed kisses across Cas’ collarbones. “Your boxers are still in the bathroom, I think.”

“Okay.” Castiel nods, ignoring the rising anxiety within him. He would never do this normally, but it seems right. This moment feels right. “Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean hums, keeping his eyes closed.

Shifting down in the bed, Castiel brushes his lips fleetingly against Dean’s. This is going to hurt, he thinks. It's going to hurt more than Michael, because if this falls apart, his confidence that he can keep himself together afterwards is next to nothing. That doesn’t stop him, though, and he kisses Dean again with more force and more need, sucking Dean’s lower lip between his teeth and pressing his naked body closer.

“Cas…” Dean mumbles against Castiel’s lips, placing a bandaged hand on his bare chest in attempt to push him away. They break apart, and he keeps his eyes transfixed on Castiel’s stoic face. He softens the hand on Castiel’s chest and spreads his fingers out to feel the heavy thrumming of his heart.

Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Castiel beats him to it. “Please, Dean.” The plea dissolves in the following silence, causing Castiel to reach up and place his trembling hand on top of Dean’s. With a sharp sense of uncertainty, Castiel drags Dean’s hand down his chest with his own, closing his eyes as he stops just below his belly button and inhales sharply. “Tell me.”

Clearing his throat, Dean whispers, “Tell you what?”

“Tell me to stop.” Cas whimpers and closes his eyes, unsure if what he's feeling is fear or impatience, or both. “Tell me that I can stop this if I wanted to.”

“I don’t need to tell you. You know you can, Cas,” he replies, brushing his thumb across the soft skin of Castiel’s lower stomach. It sends a flurry of heat to his groin, and Castiel starts to push Dean’s hand further, but the older boy resists the movement, murmuring, “We don’t have to. I can wait.”

“You can’t wait forever though, remember?” Castiel counters with a tinge of bitterness. They both know that he doesn’t mean to say it like that, but he does anyway. “I’m consenting. I want you to touch me.”

“Don’t do this because I want to.” Dean’s voice hardens as he goes to move his hand away, but Castiel holds it still against his lower abdomen. Releasing an exasperated sigh, Dean rests his forehead against Castiel’s and says, “I want to, I really do, but I can’t unless you want it just as much as I do.”

“I need you to,” he answers simply, pulling Dean’s hand down a little further and allowing him to stroke him once with a loose fist, eliciting a quiet sigh from Castiel’s full lips. “I just… Don’t…”

Lowering his voice to a soft tone, Dean eyes him warily. “Tell me what I shouldn’t do.”

“Don’t grab my, um, my wrists, and don’t-don’t h-hit me, or anything like that.”

“Okay, Cas, I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Surging forward and crashing their lips together in a mess of sliding tongues and knocking teeth, Castiel releases Dean’s hand to grip either side of Dean’s face as he snakes his tongue into Dean’s hot mouth. Grabbing Castiel’s thigh with his free hand, Dean slings it over his hip and ruts against Castiel’s naked form, eliciting sharp moans from both of them.

Desperate to feel the friction of Dean’s entire body against his, Castiel reaches below the blankets and shoves Dean’s boxers down past his thighs, freeing his trapped erection. As soon as Dean has kicked off the boxers completely, losing them in the blankets, he's rolling Castiel onto his back and settling between his spread legs.

Their naked forms slot together in a way that feels almost magical to Castiel. His entire body is pulsating with need and fear. He grinds against Dean, whining at the feeling of Dean’s body on his. Dean ducks his head and captures one of Castiel’s nipples between his lips, rolling his tongue across the little pink bud. At the jolt of electricity that shoots through his body from the simple touch, Castiel arches off of the bed with a groan, grabbing at the length of Dean’s neck just to have something to hold onto.

This is nothing like Castiel has experienced before. This is the feeling of Dean’s hot mouth sliding down his chest. This is not like one of those quick bathroom stall fucks that he’s had with a stranger in a desperate attempt at reclaiming his body. This is Dean’s bandaged hands sliding up his chest as he runs his tongue across the jutting edge of Castiel’s hipbone. This is not Alastair spitting hate as he aggressively pounds into him, ignoring Castiel’s pleas to stop. This is Dean taking Castiel’s hard length into his mouth and swallowing him whole, nuzzling his nose into the dark unruly hair below.

The sound that Castiel makes is unholy. It feels as if he is drowning in the sensation of Dean’s hot mouth. He stutters out, “Ho-holy fuck!” At the unexpected exclamation, Dean hums around Castiel’s cock and hollows out his cheeks, sending another wave of unrecognizable heat through Castiel’s trembling body. He digs the blunt edge of his nails into the base of Dean’s skull, scratching at the short hair there, and Dean bobs his head back down at the encouragement. To Castiel’s frustration and Dean’s amusement, Dean takes his time working Castiel up to his breaking point, teasing him with little licks and nips until Castiel is literally begging Dean to make him come.

“Fuck, Dean, please,” Castiel whines, embarrassingly wanton, wiggling when Dean uses his tongue to trace the prominent vein of his dick. “I need you to—I’m so close.”

“What was that?” Dean teases. Sliding his hand up Castiel's chest, Dean flicks his thumb over a taut nipple and swirls his tongue around the head of his cock, holding Cas’ jerking hips down with his free hand. “I didn’t catch that.”

Dean’s green eyes look up at him through dark lashes with a hint of innocent amusement, and he groans with frustration and need. “Make me come, please.”

“If you insist…” Before Castiel has time to react, Dean’s swallowing him down to the base again and coming back up to nip gently at the tip of his dick. He continues with sloppy yet enticing technique, pinching Castiel’s nipple again and pushing Castiel over the edge. His vision goes white and he clutches the back of Dean’s head, digging his nails into the scalp as he cries out and comes into Dean’s mouth.

There’s a fraction of a second where Castiel feels completely and utterly normal. Safe, even. He opens his eyes to see Dean flash a crooked smile at him as he jerks himself off at the end of the bed, rolling his head back to release a quiet groan.

Castiel crawls down the bed and swats Dean’s hand away, replacing it with his own. He makes quick work of getting him off, knowing that Dean doesn’t want to wait any longer for his own release. He experimentally presses his thumb against Dean’s entrance and lightly grazes the tip of Dean’s cock with his teeth and Dean is coming with a shout and a jerk of the hips.

Pulling off of Dean’s dick with a pop, Castiel lazily removes himself from the bed to get a washcloth from the bathroom. He comes back and cleans them both up with the damp towel, tossing it onto the floor afterwards. He flops down beside Dean’s relaxed body and curls against the naked boy’s chest, pressing his ear to Dean’s skin just to hear the sound of his breathing.

“I love you,” Dean admits without surprise or encouragement, bringing his hand up to toy with the ends of Castiel’s dark hair. At the moment, Castiel isn't quite sure if Dean feels the need to say it for safety or reassurance, but either way it is nice to hear it.

Brushing his lips against Dean’s freckled chest, Castiel replies, “I love you too.”

*****

Dean turns onto their street, feeling the comfort of Cas’ hand playfully sliding up his thigh and the dread of having to confront his father after running out last night. He pulls into the drive, puts the car in park, and shuts off the engine, focusing in on the sound of Cas’ steady breaths. “I don’t want to go in.” He glances warily at the front door of his house, knowing full well that his dad is gonna tear him a new one. It ain’t fair, but he knows that he has it coming for him right about now, and John has always been good at being really fucking scary.

Giving Dean’s thigh a light squeeze, Cas smiles faintly. “Just go speak to him. I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Yeah, because ripping it off like a band-aid is the best way to go about it…”

Scoffing at the comparison, Cas laughs a little. “Please, Dean. I hardly think this will be as easy as ripping off a band-aid.”

“Wow, that’s so helpful, Cas,” Dean mocks. He hesitates for a moment, glancing back at the exterior of his picturesque home. “To anyone walking down the street, my house probably looks like the happiest place on earth, but no one considers what happens behind closed doors.”

“What happens behind closed doors?”

Releasing a heavy sigh, Dean shakes his head. “Nothing I can’t handle, Cas. Don’t worry about it, got it?” Covering Cas’ hand with his own, Dean proffers a weak smile before opening his door and getting out of the car.

He watches Cas cross the street and waits until he disappears inside the Singers' house, then he turns and heads up the drive to his front door. Mustering the strength to face his dad, Dean opens the door and takes a step inside.

“Dean? Is that you?” He hears his mother call from the kitchen, and she peeks around the corner to smile weakly at him.

John appears in the doorway, his face set in anger. “Where the hell have you been?”

“With Cas.”

“I don’t want you hanging around him anymore. He’s trouble and you got enough on your plate as it is.” John folds his arms across his chest and glares. “I’ve told ya once, do I gotta tell ya again to quit hanging out with that crowd?”

“You can’t tell me who I can and can’t be friends with.” Struggling to remain calm, Dean shrugs off his leather jacket and hangs it by the door before walking closer to his father.

“I damn well can tell you what you can and can’t do! Goddammit, Dean! I’m your fucking father and you better learn to listen to me or so help me, I will make damn sure–”

“You’ll what?” Raising his voice, Dean points an aggressive finger at his father. “You can’t keep a leash on me for my entire fucking life! Sooner or later I’m gonna do something that you haven’t decided for me, might as well start now, right?”

“DON’T YOU DARE TALK BACK TO ME!” Stepping closer and crowding into Dean’s space, John shouts down at his son with hot breath. His mother whimpers quietly in the doorway.

“OR WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO–”

John silences him with a sharp, hard slap across the face. A sting. A moment of anger. A reminder.

Dean raises his hand to clutch his burning cheek, feeling the rage well in his eyes and throat. Moving forward with his mind whirring too fast for him to understand, he shoves his father violently and finds himself being pushed back against the wall by the collar of his shirt.

“John! Stop this!” Mary shouts at her husband, tears streaming down her face as she desperately attempts to pull John off of Dean. “Stop it! STOP!”

“YOU UNGRATEFUL PIECE OF SHIT!” John roars, shaking Dean violently by his shirt collar and banging the boy's head hard on the wall behind him. “YOU WILL DO AS YOU'RE TOLD!”

Dean shoves John off of him, taking a swing at his father’s jaw and feeling his knuckles connect. Grabbing a handful of Dean’s shirt once more, John lands a solid punch across Dean’s face, knocking him to the ground. He shifts his weight and begins kicking his son in the gut. He shouts slurs and obscenities that Dean tunes out, focusing on the pain spiraling through his trembling body.

“JOHN, STOP IT! HE IS YOUR SON!” Her screams are rewarded with a swift backhand across her rosy, wet cheek, silencing her completely.

John returns his attention to his son’s broken body. “I fucking own you. This life of yours, Dean. It’s mine, because I’ve given it to you. Next time, show a little respect.”

He takes one last menacing glance at his son and stomps out of the room, slamming the back door behind him. Mary rushes to her son’s side, turning his bruised face up to hers and releasing a wrecked sob. She pulls him to her chest and cradles him, sobbing violently.

“He isn’t supposed to hurt you,” she cries, running soothing fingers through Dean’s short hair and swaying them back and forth.

She helps Dean up and takes him across to the Singers', entering through the side door to the kitchen.

“Hey there, Mary! How’s–” Ellen stops in her tracks at the sight of a bruised and bloodied Dean, and she crosses the room swiftly to help Mary settle him into a chair. “What the hell happened?”

“He just lost it…” Mary whimpers, cupping Dean’s face in her hand. “Dean talked back and he blew up.”

Gripping Mary’s face in her hand, Ellen growls, “You need to leave him, Mary.”

Shaking her head and crying hysterically, she crumbles. “I c-c-can’t do it. I have to stay. Dean, Dean knows better than to talk back. He knows better than that.”

It’s silent for a moment while Ellen goes to work cleaning Dean up. Dean feels his world still and his entire being slow. Everything seems surreal and he loses track of where he is or what is happening. They give him some pain killers and send him to lay down on the couch. He stares at the ceiling, wishing he could be someone else, anybody else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I must apologize for writing yet another rather depressing chapter, but honestly if you didn't like it you probably wouldn't have read this far. Thank you so much for all the wonderful, encouraging comments! They really do make my day and I can't help but get excited when I see that another person voiced their opinion/thoughts on the story. Chapter 12 is in the works and will be up shortly. Thanks again! Any questions just comment below and I'll reply as soon as I can. 
> 
> -Jos


	12. Chapter 12

He tells everyone it was a mugging in the city that gave him his black eye and cracked several of his ribs, and they believe him. By now it’s been a few weeks and the bruising has faded, along with Castiel's hope that Dean might actually speak to him. Dean’s avoided him since the incident; all he knows is what Jo willingly told him, which was that John Winchester beat the remaining fight out of his oldest son.

He takes a seat in the cafeteria with his friends, keeping a close eye on Dean, who hasn’t looked up from his food since Castiel sat down. Trying his best to ignore the pain shooting through his chest, Castiel eats and jokes along with the others at the table. Then Dean stands, murmuring a goodbye and shuffling away with his head down. Castiel begins getting his things together to leave and follow Dean, but Jo places a gentle hand on his and shakes her head.

“Don’t, Cas.” She looks after Dean’s disappearing figure with a pained expression. “He’s got a lot on his plate right now.”

Ignoring her words with a sharp nod of his head, he follows Dean into an empty bathroom, finding him slumped against the wall, staring blankly at the mirror in front of him. His eyes shift slightly to glance at Castiel. At the sight of him, Dean groans. 

“You’re avoiding me,” Castiel insists, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. “I do not understand why, but you are, so don’t bother denying it.”

Tipping his head back against the tiles, Dean drawls out, “I'm guessing you know what happened.”

"I know," Castiel says, taking a small step towards Dean, “only what Jo has told me.”

“I need some space right now, Cas.” Huffing with frustration, Dean lifts his gaze warily. “I just need to think.”

“Think about what?”

“Us. I need to think about it,” Dean replies distantly, avoiding Castiel's eyes as he stands to make a quick exit.

It's like daggers are digging into the flesh of his heart and throat and stomach. Castiel lifts his chin indignantly and swallows the cry rising in his throat.

“Why? You didn’t think too hard about 'us' when you had my cock in your mouth." Crowding into Dean's space, Castiel's voice drops to a low rumble as he spits out each word. "Everything seemed pretty easy to you then, didn’t it? Nothing was difficult about 'us' when our naked bodies were grinding against each other. Or when we laid there sweaty and naked, whispering bullshit I love you’s. You didn’t think too fucking hard about–”

"Shut up! Don’t you dare do that..." Dean glares and sneers down his nose at Castiel. “Don’t be an ass right now.”

“Don't tell me what to do."

In the distance, the bell rings. Castiel blocks the exit when Dean shifts towards the door.

"Talk to me," he coaxes, impulsively gripping Dean's head in his hands and kissing him. Dean kisses back, inhaling sharply and pushing Castiel against the nearest wall. Clutching at Dean's body with greedy hands, Castiel sucks Dean's bottom lip between his teeth and nips at it.

Groaning, Dean pulls back in one swift motion, covering his face with his hands. In a choked whisper, Dean answers, “I can’t...I mean, we can’t. It’s done.”

Castiel reaches out to pull Dean back to him, but Dean is brushing past and the bathroom door is slamming shut before he has a chance. Castiel jumps at the sharp smack of wood, feeling as if he is losing some sort of battle that he never could have won. This feeling of hopelessness and unwavering love is so demanding that it has put unattainable dreams of happiness in his head, and now look where he stands.

Alone. Completely and utterly alone. He should have known this would happen. Giving himself up time and time again has only ever caused him grief in the long run. How naive to believe that all of this would work itself out. Glancing around the tiled room, Castiel freezes at the sight of himself in the mirror. Beneath his layers of clothes he has numerous scars that people have given to him and he has given to himself. He wants to dissect his appearance and point out all the scars and pieces within him that leave him continuously broken.

He stands there for what feels like hours. When he finally comes back to reality he wishes he hadn't, or that he didn’t have to. Taking a final glance at his tired reflection, he shuffles out of the room and leaves campus. He's already late for class, why even bother going at all? The day is cold and the bitterness nips at his nose, reminding him that it is almost Christmas. He feels loneliness expand inside him, stretching from the center of his chest to the icy tips of his toes.

Just as he expected, the beach is empty. He drops his backpack in the damp sand and walks to the water. The waves shake and shiver with every gust of wind, but continue to follow the moon’s unrelenting heartbeat. Lazily dragging his body back to where his bag lies, Castiel tightens his windbreaker around his shivering body and lies down among the dunes, letting the rain soak through to his bones. He falls asleep there, without caring whether he will make it home for dinner or if someone might worry about where he has gone.

_"Where have you been?" Meg demands, setting her book aside as Castiel crawls through the window. "I've been freaking out."_

_He slides the window back into place and leans against it. "I had to get out for a bit." He shakes his wet coat off and hangs it on the back of the door. "Is he here yet?"_

_"The new kid?" Glancing at the open door, she shifts nervously on the bed. "Yes. He's unpacking his bags."_

_"Did you tell him everything?" He asks, taking a seat beside her._

_She nods solemnly. "You should probably go introduce yourself."_

_Kicking off his rotting sneakers, Castiel shuffles out of Meg's room and down the hall to his bedroom, where his new roommate is settling in. He stands in the doorway and clears his throat in announcement. "Hello. I'm Castiel."_

_Startled, the kid spins around and brings his hand up to nervously brush his hair from his eyes. He attempts a smile. "I'm Andy. Meg told me about you already."_

_Castiel raises his eyebrows, looking the boy up and down. "Oh really, and what exactly did my dear sister say?"_

_"That you usually aren't around much, and when you are, you're out of sight."_

_"Accurate." Castiel shrugs, seating himself on the edge of his bed. "You look younger than we were told." Internally, Castiel is cringing at the pre-pubescent boy that stands before him, knowing fully well that Alistair is most likely more than pleased._

_"I'm eleven." Eleven. The same age Castiel was when he first entered the system. The same age Castiel was when he found his mother hanging from a beam in their living room. “I’m turning twelve in six months.”_

_“What happened to you?” God, how he loathes that question, yet he always feels the need to ask it despite himself._

_“My parents abandoned me. They couldn’t afford to have their drugs and me at the same time, so…” Andy huffs a laugh, looking down at his dirty sneakers. “They made a choice.”_

_“I’m sorry to hear that.”_

_The kid's posture sways, uncertainty clouding his frame as the silence stretches on. "Is he really that bad?"_

_"To me, sure." A biting laugh escapes Castiel, and he looks over at the younger boy through the fray of his hair. "Hopefully not to you, though. Not if I have anything to say about it."_

When he wakes, the sky is dark and the wind is brutal, picking up the sand around him and slamming it against his face with every gust. The walk home is unexciting, only making the urge to run that much stronger.

As he approaches the Singer’s home, Castiel gazes at the serenity of their homely street. These homes are exactly what Castiel has always dreamt of, and the life within each one is that of a fairy tale. The Singer’s enormous Victorian home towers over him, leering, almost as though it were reprimanding him for running and hiding when he knows that there is a house full of people within its walls who love him unconditionally. The windows shine with a soft orange glow, and he can hear Adam playing the piano from where he stands on the front steps.

Cautiously, he steps inside and exhales, allowing the warmth of his home to surround him. He can hear the quick shuffle of feet coming towards him as Ellen rounds the corner and stares at him from the kitchen doorway.

“We thought you’d gone and left us again.” Leaning against the arch, she rests her head on the wood and smiles faintly at him. “You worry me sick, boy.”

He returns a small smile, dropping his bags on the floor and walking into her outstretched arms. He breathes her in, and remembers that this is what it feels like be loved. “I’m glad I found you.”

“We’re glad you found us too, sweetheart.” She whispers into his hair, rubbing his back calmly. “Your biological father signed away his parental rights. We should be able to adopt you within the next few weeks, but if you want to meet with him before then, we can arrange something.”

“I have no desire to see him.” It’s not a lie, nor is it the truth. His feelings towards his father have morphed into indifference, and Castiel cannot rid himself of the uncertainty or find a suitable place to bury it. As a result, he chooses to move forward instead. “I love you,” he chokes out into the soft curve of her shoulder. For the first time in a long time, he feels at home.

*****

“You’ve gotta talk to him, Dean,” Sam declares suddenly, reaching to turn down the car’s stereo. “He misses you.”

“I can’t put him in that kind of position, Sammy.” Turning on his blinker, Dean glances out of the corner of his eyes at his brother in the passenger seat. He pulls into the school parking lot. “I mean, you saw what Dad did to me; imagine what he would do if he found out the entire truth. He’d kill Cas without a second thought and then he’d kill me too.”

“Jo said Cas is getting bad again.”

“That’s not my fault,” Dean mutters defensively, feeling his chest tighten at the news as he parks the car and cuts the engine. “How bad is he?”

“He didn’t come home last Tuesday night. He’s been skipping classes and meals.” Last Tuesday was the bathroom incident; a wave of guilt passes through Dean’s body. He clenches his jaw, finding it difficult to say anything without losing his composure. Sam continues on despite his brother's lack of response. “You can try to protect him from Dad, Dean, but can you help protect him from himself? I honestly think he needs you a lot more than you think he does.”

Gathering his things, Sammy gets out of the car and leaves Dean alone with his thoughts–the last thing he could possibly want right now. Minutes pass, and Dean finally decides to just go to his locker earlier than usual. As he walks through the hall, Gordon sidles up beside him. He smiles obnoxiously and flings a loose arm over Dean’s shoulder.

“Winchester! Long time no see, bud,” Gordon chides, ruffling Dean’s hair teasingly and laughing. “How’s the boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Gordon.” Rolling his eyes, Dean shrugs Gordon’s arm off of him. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“I’m just messing with you.” Gordon throws his head back and laughs, punching Dean on the arm. “I know you aren’t a faggot.”

Dean cringes at the word. “How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good, man. Hey, sorry for the whole thing earlier this year.” Dean gives him a side-glance that has Gordon’s voice sounding much more genuine than before. “Castiel isn’t all that bad; he actually wrote my English essay for twenty bucks earlier this week, and I got a B on it. Listen, I want to make it up to you.”

Reaching his locker, Dean shoves his books inside. “Don’t worry about it, Gordon. I forgive you.”

“No, seriously, Winchester. There’s this rager happening this weekend. You should come–it’s been ages since I saw you at a party.”

He’s about to say no. He’s about to close his locker, tell Gordon that maybe he’ll go next time and walk away. He’s about to shake his head and say that he is too busy this weekend. And then he sees Castiel walking down the hall next to Michael, and then he’s smiling at Gordon and nodding in agreement.

“Sounds good! Where’s it at?” He asks Gordon weakly as he meets Castiel’s passing glance with a heavy heart. 

*****

“You sure this is a good idea, Dean?” Pam asks him when he parks the car in the open field behind a house filled with music, booze, and misguided teenagers. “You don’t even like partying that much…”

“C’mon, one night won’t kill me,” he replies smoothly, turning to Pam as Chuck, Anna, and Gabe get out of the back seat and walk towards the party. Her warning gaze remains firm, and Dean sighs, resting against the leather seats of the Impala. “I need this, Pam.”

“Is this about Cas?”

“Even if it was, what could I do about it?” he groans helplessly, staring up at the ceiling of the car.

“Um, I don’t know, Dean. You could try talking to him.”

Dean gets out of the car and shakes his head. “Not tonight, Pam. C’mon, just let me have one night.”

They walk into the house and barely five minutes later, Dean has lost track of his friends. He wanders aimlessly until he finds the drinks. He has a couple shots, takes a couple hits off of some guy's enormous bong, and goes back into the crowd feeling much more misguided than before. The music engulfs him and his entire body pulsates with the beat. At some point he finds Anna in the crowd and soon she's pressed against him in a not-too-unpleasant grind. The way she’s using her hands to run up and down Dean’s body is really hard to ignore, as is the burning urge to push her up against the wall and take whatever she is willing to give him.

When she turns her back and presses up against him, Dean lowers his mouth to her ear and asks, “Do you want to go out to my car?”

She smiles darkly, biting her lower lip and running her hands up his chest. “I thought you’d never ask, Winchester.” She grabs him by the hand and leads him outside. They get into the front seat without a word, closing the doors and falling into complete silence.

“It’s okay if you’re using me,” she admits, tilting her head. “I’m used to being used...but we’re friends, and if you need to forget about...about Cas for a little bit, then I understand.”

Swallowing to rid himself of his suddenly dry throat, Dean turns his head to find her much closer than he'd expected her to be. “You can’t tell him.”

“Why would I do that?” She raises her eyebrows in question, placing her hand on Dean’s leg and gradually sliding it up his inner thigh. He lets his head fall back and he groans when she cups him through his jeans, pressing the heel of her hand against his hardening arousal. “I’ve always wanted to touch you like this. You really are something else,” she murmurs to him, kissing the shell of his ear. “You know, I’ve heard all kinds of stories from other girls who’ve been with you, and I hope I'm not disappointed.”

Gripping the hem of Dean’s shirt, Anna pulls it over his head and tosses it aside. With fumbling fingers, he unbuttons her low-cut blouse while she sucks and bites her way down his neck and chest. In a slow, circular motion she grinds down onto his lap, forcing a groan from the back of his throat. Flinging her shirt aside, Dean makes quick work of unclasping her white lace bra and pulling it off of her thin body. He latches his mouth onto the creamy skin of her breast and flicks his tongue across her taut nipple, listening to the sound of her uneven breath.

Licking his way up her neck and pulling her into a bruising kiss, he grabs her sides and presses her down onto his lap, grinding into her. When they pull away from one another, he mutters sharply, “Get in the back seat.”

Anna is quick to climb into the back, resting her back against the door and her legs stretched across the seat. He clambers back with her, attempting to undo his belt as he goes. Meeting her lips again, Dean gets his jeans down and kicks them off onto the floor of the Impala. “We can’t get anything on the inside of the car,” he informs her. “This upholstery costs a fortune.”

“Wow Winchester, you sure know how to make a girl want to take off her panties,” Anna remarks in return, rolling her eyes with a giggle.

“Oh, do I?” Smirking slightly, he slides his hand up Anna’s pale thigh. He shoves her mini-skirt up and her panties to the side before pushing two fingers into her without warning. Her back arches up and she exhales a soft moan as her red hair falls across her face. He spends a few mindless minutes working her up with his fingers, until she shoves his hand away and strips naked. Pushing his boxers down his thighs with a groan of impatience, she pulls him down on top of her and bites at on his lower lip.

“Condom?” Anna whispers fervently, wrapping a fist around his cock and giving him a few quick strokes.

“Fuck. They’re in the glove box.” He pushes himself off of her and leans over the front seat, returning with a condom in hand. Anna snatches the package from him and rips it open with her teeth, rolling it onto him urgently.

It’s all very blurry, really. Anna is fucking him. Dean is fucking her. There’s no thought, or feeling, or meaning behind any of it. It’s just fucking. She’s very good at it, to say the least, and he genuinely enjoys himself for the most part. It passes the time and eases his aching heart, but fails to fill the void within him. Even as he relentlessly pounds into her, he can’t help but feel as though something were missing. She climaxes minutes before he does, and when he finally angles himself and sinks into her one last time, he groans and slumps forward against her delicate body.

They lay there for a moment, sweating and breathing and being. He limply pulls out of her, tugging the condom off and tying it before wrapping it in a napkin from the floor. Pulling his boxers back on, he looks over at her lengthy pale expanse of skin. Her hips are forming light blue bruises where his hands had been and her neck is littered with small love bites.

“You’re very good at that,” she says breathlessly. Pushing her hair back from her sweaty forehead, she sits up on her elbows to meet his gaze.

He laughs, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing the back of his neck and head. “Thank you, I guess...I’m glad you had fun.”

“I’m not going to tell him. I promise.” She sits up completely, kissing the freckles on his shoulder and pulling her clothes back on. “It’d probably ruin him, in all honesty. It’s best we don’t let anyone know, actually.”

He nods. “Thanks, for that.”

She winks, getting out of the car. “Any time, Winchester.” She closes the door and walks back to the house, her red hair blowing behind her.

*****

“Merry Christmas!” Ellen shouts as she opens the door and welcomes the Winchesters inside. Mary and Sam carry food into the kitchen as John slaps Bobby on the back with a smile. Castiel watches Dean warily from behind Jo, who is talking to Jessica. The two boys make eye contact, and Castiel’s breath hitches. It’s been weeks since they’ve been this close, and he knows that John is watching him closely out of the corner of his eye. He keeps his head down and runs up the stairs to his room where he closes the door behind him and rests his head on the wood. He turns the lock and slides down to sit on the floor.

He does not want to go back downstairs. He does not want to eat dinner with everyone. He does not want to open presents with everyone. He does not want to sit across from the one thing he wants and be constantly reminded that he cannot have it.

Crawling across the floor, he goes to his dresser and opens the bottom drawer. Ruffling through the clothes, he pulls out the newly framed picture of Dean and him at his birthday party. Running his thumb across the frame, he's startled by a knock at the door. He shoves the picture under his bed.

“Who is it?” he shouts, certain that it is Jo.

No one answers, and Castiel's curiosity leads him to the door. Unlocking it and swinging it open, he struggles to hide his shock when Jo shoves a protesting Dean Winchester into his room before slamming the door shut. Dean pushes Castiel aside and bangs on the door with his fist, shouting, "Jo! Open this door right now. You know I can't do this. Not now, not today."

She answers calmly, most likely keeping the door closed by pulling on the doorknob. "No. You need to talk to him and tell him."

In defeat, he rest his head on the door. "Jo, I can't."

"He deserves to know, Dean."

Castiel backs away, feeling the urge to run. Something bad is happening. His chest is constricting. He can feel his muscles tightening and his heartbeat quicken. In a flat voice, he murmurs, "What do I deserve to know, Dean?"

"We weren't together." He hears Dean whisper against the door, his voice breaking into a small cry. "I wish I hadn't. I wish I'd stopped, but I wanted to...I needed to forget about you. I just...I miss you and I’m sorry I’ve been an ass. I thought it was for the best since my dad would literally kill us both if he found out, but I want to be selfish and have you anyways. But I fucked up, Cas."

“Dean, I--”

“No! Shut up. I’m not done.” Dean steps in front of him, placing a finger to his lips in a silencing motion. “I didn’t take into consideration what you wanted, and I’m sorry for that.”

“I forgive you.” Castiel smiles faintly, feeling that this is not the news that Jo said he deserves to know.

“I had sex with Anna.” Dean drops his gaze, ashamed. “I needed to forget about you, but I had to tell you. I can’t lie to you.”

Taking another step back, his body hits the wall with a soft thud and he feels his knees weaken. Squeezing his eyes shut, he inhales deeply to chase the pain away. “You... you had sex with... with Anna?”

“Cas, listen to me, please. We weren’t together. I wanted to forget just for a little while how much it hurt not being with you.”

“I always feel like I’m drowning,” he whispers, staring blankly at Dean’s feet. “No matter what I’m doing or who I am with, I am always drowning.”

“Let me give you some air.” Stepping into Castiel’s space, Dean reaches a soothing hand to cup Castiel’s face and lift it to meet his eyes. “I love you.”

“I know.” His smile is weak, and his voice is thin, but he still manages to ask, “Do you regret it?”

Closing his eyes and sighing heavily, Dean rests his forehead on Castiel’s. “Every fucking second of it. I haven't gone a day where I don't wish I had stopped and left. I kept kicking myself for not just going back to you and apologizing and kissing you. It hurt not being able to talk to you and listen to you....to touch you." Dean runs the pad of his thumb across Castiel's lower lip. "It felt like I was drowning in my own stupidity."

“I am angry with you,” Castiel replies.

Lifting his head and pressing his lips to Castiel’s forehead, Dean nods. “I know. I owe you.”

“Thank you for being honest with me.” With little hesitation, Castiel wraps his arms around Dean and breathes him in. Castiel wants to be angry, but he can't really justify it. "I gave Michael a blowjob...or two, I guess. He was there. An easy distraction."

"Fuck...we are so fucked up," Dean admits, holding Castiel tighter against him. "My dad had never hit me like he hit me that night." Pulling back, Castiel holds Dean's head with both hands and looks into Dean's watering eyes. "And after my mom brought me over here and I got all cleaned up, I just thought that I could never let him hit you like that. I know he would if he found out. He'd skin us alive."

Wiping away one of Dean's stray tears, Castiel takes an inventory of this moment. "I've been through a lot of shit, Dean. Believe me. But I'd go to Hell and back for you–to kiss you, to hold you, to love one last time. I'd go to Hell and back, and I wouldn't even have a second thought."

In an instant, Dean's burning lips are on Castiel's chapped ones, licking and biting his way into the hot confines of Castiel's mouth. He has Castiel pressed against a wall, one leg shoved between his thighs. Castiel grinds down on his leg, making needy sounds; he couldn't stop if he tried. Then Dean is dropping to his knees, tearing at Castiel's jeans and boxers. Castiel gasps when Dean puts his half-hard cock in his desperate mouth, threading his fingers through the older boy's short hair.

"I missed you," Castiel whines in a low voice, as Dean swallows him down to the base. He knows how fucked up this all is, but he honestly wouldn't give it up for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I KNOW DO NOT BE ANGRY WITH ME. I do hope you liked the chapter regardless of how awful it was, but the next chapter I have planned is fun and happy and full of snow! So, it will be far different from my usual depressive brooding chapters. Expect an update by the beginning of next month if I'm really on top of things!!! Please leave comments/questions. :) - Jos


	13. Chapter 13

“Have you ever been touched by a foster parent, Castiel?” Dr. Carter probes nonchalantly, pouring herself another cup of coffee by her desk. Castiel snaps his head up to glare at her, furrowing his brow and sighing. Why must she ask the most unanswerable questions?

“Do you always ask stupid questions, Sharon?” He watches her tense up at the sound of her first name and he smiles, knowing he is beginning to anger her now. But… he knows he can't tell her the truth; the truth would kill him.

She moves to sit back down across from him, picking up her pad and pen as she goes. “I do love our little chats, but for once I would like to actually hear something constructive happen between us.” He rolls her eyes at her and she--obviously exasperated--writes something down. “How is Dean, then? Are you two sexually active yet?”

The air in the room is sticky and cold, and his palms begin to sweat as he rubs them together anxiously. He sputters then, floundering around for the right words to cover things up and failing miserably. “I don’t--we aren’t. I never said we were! Who told you--why are you asking?”

She raises her eyebrows, the corners of her mouth turning upwards into a smug smile. She knows. Of course she knows. “It really isn’t too hard to gather that you two are together, Castiel. I mean, you are very fond of him and you hardly talk about anyone else when you do actually talk to me.”

“No. We aren’t,” he replies shortly.

“I assume you tell him things.” She tilts her head, waiting for confirmation of her assumption. “I’m glad you’ve found someone you trust…”

“He helps me to...forget,” Castiel admits, settling back down into his seat.

Taking a sip of her coffee, Dr. Carter’s gaze is unwavering. “Forget about what?”

“About all the things I pretend never happened.”

She glances at her watch and frowns, knowing that their time is up. “Well, perhaps you can tell me about those things one day. I will see you in two weeks. Have a happy New Year!” she calls after him as he slides out of his chair and exits the room, walking briskly down the hall.

 *****

“I still don’t understand how you managed to get your dad to let you do this,” Castiel wonders, looking out at the snow-covered treetops. He lifts his arms above his head and stretches; his limbs are getting restless after sitting in the car for so long. “You couldn’t possibly have told him what you were actually doing."

“I told him that I’m going on a skiing trip with a few guys from the football team, and that we’d be staying at Grandpa’s condo.” Changing the radio station from one static thrum to another, Dean pulls off of the highway and into a small town. “He was more than happy to let me go. Plus, mom and Sam are covering for me.”

Castiel sits up excitedly, gazing out at the powdered streets. “How much farther?”

“About twenty minutes. Relax,” Dean chides, reaching across the bench to hold Castiel’s hand with his free one. “We’re almost there.”

Castiel wiggles in his seat, finding it difficult to stay still when he’s never been to the snow before. He wants to take off all his clothes and jump into the puffy foam of white that layers the ground like a thick winter blanket. It sounds completely and utterly ridiculous, but he just imagines it to be soft and lukewarm and beautiful.

It’s beginning to annoy him how calm Dean is, and he keeps having to remind himself that Dean has been to the snow plenty of times. When Dean finally pulls up to the condos, Castiel is unbuckling himself and jumping out of the car before the engine is even cut off. He bounds over a sloping hill of crystal white and throws himself into it. The fresh powder makes a whhhhooooof sound when he plops down onto it and he laughs, watching the flakes fall from the sky.

“Cas!” Dean shouts, running towards him. “What the hell are you doing? You’re wearing jeans and a freakin’ sweatshirt. Do you want to die?”

“Please, Dean.” Rolling his eyes, Castiel sits up and runs his hand through the numbing fluff. “I hardly think a little snow is going to kill me.”

“Say that again when you’re dying of hypothermia with a side of frostbite,” Dean jokes, holding out his hand and helping Castiel out of the snow. “Let’s get our stuff inside and then we can come back out again later.”

They gather up their bags and head indoors, walking down the long hall towards the door to their condo. Dean unlocks it and swings it open, revealing a massive room lined with windows overlooking a lake and miles of snow-covered forest. Castiel enters cautiously, setting his bags down by the door and admiring his surroundings. “This is beautiful,” he murmurs softly, glancing around before bounding up the stairs to the loft area. A king bed covered in a white down blanket and enormous blue and white pillows sits directly in the center of the room, facing the large windows.

“Are your grandparents wealthy?” he shouts down the stairs, waiting for Dean to answer. Nothing follows his question, so he retreats back downstairs where Dean is stocking the fridge with groceries. “Did you hear me?”

“What? No.” Dean smiles, closing the fridge and moving to the cupboards. “What is it?”

“Are your grandparents wealthy?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugs it off. “My grandpa used to play football professionally, and my grandma’s written a couple books or something.”

“This place is amazing.”

Finishing up the last of the unpacking, Dean closes up the cupboards and leans against the kitchen counter. “I’m glad you like it. Okay, go put some warmer clothes on and we can go back outside.”

Cas’ face breaks into grin and rushes upstairs to throw on something thicker to keep him warm. When they finally go out of the condo, the snow is coming down in a fluffy haze. He's gazing at the world littered with a film of white when there's a soft thud and a chill of cold on the back of his head. He lifts his hand up to find snow clumped in his hair and sliding down the back of his neck. Turning around, Castiel finds Dean standing triumphantly with a smirk stretched across his face, holding a freshly-packed snowball in his hand.

"You do not want to start this!" Castiel chuckles, reaching down to scoop up a handful of snow and packing it into a ball. Dean's smile grows and he quips, "Oh, I think I do."

"You're going down, Winchester!"

He launches the ball at Dean and it hits him square in the chest. In retaliation, Dean shoots a massive ball of snow at his face but he ducks before it hits him. They chase each other through the wooded area outside the condos, throwing snowballs and hiding behind trees. At last, Dean loses sight of him, and he takes his chance to land a snowball across Dean's left cheek. Dean curses at the cold and laughs, raising his hands in surrender.

Castiel walks over to him and wipes the snow from the boy's face tenderly. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, realizing how the white of the snow illuminates the freckles across Dean's nose and cheeks. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"Thank you for coming with me," the taller boy answers fondly, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. Beneath the snow flurry, their lips meet and move together. Dean pulls away first, resting his head against Castiel's with his eyes still tightly shut. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he responds, smoothing the back of Dean's cold neck with his hand. "But I'm also hungry and cold, so can we go get some food?"

They drive into town and eat at a petite dinner by the lake. The sun sets beyond the trees and the snow glistens orange and red and yellow. Castiel cannot imagine ever seeing anything so beautiful, but then he turns his head to see Dean smiling at him and he forgets all about the sunset. They laugh and talk through dinner, pretending to have different accents when speaking to their waiter and the hostess. The waiter rolls his eyes at Dean's particularly awful Boston accent and pointedly asks them if they are ready for the check.

"Geez, someone needs to get laid," Dean grumbles, looking at the retreating form of the waiter. He turns to Cas with a wide grin stretched across his face and hums happily, "God, you look so freakin' gorgeous right now, Cas."

Attempting to hide the blush creeping up his neck, Castiel looks out the window and huffs, "Knock it off Dean."

"I'm serious, Cas." He meets Castiel's gaze head-on before standing and sliding into Castiel's side of the booth without a word. He places a gentle hand on the inside of his knee and circles his thumb slowly. "You are absolutely stunning. Jesus Christ, I've been sitting here for the last two hours just thinking about what you'd look like naked..."

"Dean..." Castiel replies harshly in warning, but Dean ignores him and slides his hand further up his thigh.

Dean lowers his mouth to Castiel's ear and says, "I keep thinking about your cock in my mouth. I can't stop thinking about it." Involuntarily, Castiel groans, because they've never done this before. Not once have they ever been overtly sexual when speaking to each other. Castiel is discovering it to be a massive turn-on.

"I want to do so many things with you, it's unbelievable. I want you to do so many things to me." He cups Castiel through his jeans then, and he tries to best to look casual just as the waiter returns with their check and walks away. "I miss the taste of your cock in my..."

"Stop!" Dean quickly jerks his hand away at the words, hitting on the bottom of the table, but Castiel just smiles."I'm gonna come just hearing you talk like that."

"Well that'd be no fun," he quips, a smirk on his lips. He pulls out his wallet and slides a few bills onto the table. Standing, Dean holds out his hand to him and Castiel takes it cautiously, as if the simple touch might send shock waves through his body. “Let’s head back, alright?”

The drive back is quiet and tense, the air vibrating with anxious thoughts and deep breaths. When Dean parks the car and cuts the engine, neither one musters a word as they slide out of the car and meet face to face at the walkway. Dean smiles slightly, moving his hand out to clasp Castiel’s numb fingers in his own. They go inside, where the frigid air can no longer reach them. The door clicks shut and darkness falls over them.

The first thing Castiel feels is Dean reaching out to slide Castiel's coat off of his shoulders, squeezing his biceps as he goes. He hangs the coat on the rack off to the side and gazes at Castiel as he removes his own coat. Then Dean steps forward, crowding into Castiel's space.

There are no words to describe the anticipation of a sexual encounter, one that is desired and unforced. Castiel cannot explain how haunting it is to fear that he might snap at a single touch or movement that may just be too familiar. That's what he fears most: not being able to do it when he actually wants it to happen. He's scared of being incapable of simple human contact because he is so broken by Alistair.

He does not want to be a broken person who is missing pieces; he wishes to be whole; he wishes he had an identity untainted by human cruelty; he wishes he could go one week without a nightmare; he wishes he could let go of all reservations and allow his boyfriend to touch him the way boyfriends touch each other. Castiel knows that he is not whole and that he never will be, but this is a step towards creating another patch for a hole in his soul, and that will do for now.

He lets Dean kiss him--because he’s forgotten how to move--and once Dean's lips are on his he begins to relax. He opens his mouth and feels Dean's tongue tickle lightly across his, a simple touch, barely noticeable. Groaning into it and grabbing a handful of Dean's shirt, Castiel pulls him closer and backs himself against the door.

Pinned between the door and Dean, he swirls his tongue along Dean's bottom lip and whimpers when the older boy deepens the kiss. He becomes frantic, clutching onto Dean as their tongues dance and teeth clash. It’s a mess, it really is, but Castiel finds comfort in the thought that this will not be perfect. It doesn’t need to be perfect, because then it wouldn’t be real. This is real. Dean is running his hands down Castiel’s body and taking a handful of his ass in his hands and Castiel actually wants it to happen. This desire to completely open himself up to Dean is entirely his choice and Castiel never would have thought (not in a million years) that this could become reality.

Dean surges forward, pushing his tongue further into Castiel’s mouth as if he were trying to taste his tonsils. Castiel does not mind; he moans into it as Dean grinds their slotted hips together. He pulls back to catch a breath of air.

“Upstairs?” Dean prods gently, resting his forehead against Castiel’s. He nods a reply, and Dean leads him upstairs by the hand.

At the edge of the bed, Dean turns to face him. “I love you s’freakin much…” He falters, blinking once and looking up at the ceiling. Softly, he asks. "Cas?"

Castiel reaches out for the hem of Dean’s shirt and pulls it over his head, tossing it to the side. Placing a hand on Dean’s chest, he asks, “Yes, Dean?”

Dean glances anxiously up at him, and chokes out, “I want you to fuck me.”

“Dear God…”

“In the ass,” he clarifies quietly.

Castiel laughs at that. It’s just so virginal that he has a difficult time believing that it came out of Dean’s mouth. Dean isn't typically the kind of guy to be all flustered and nervous and this kind of stuff, but here he is, stammering and blushing like the idiot that he is. “Yes, because there are so many other places to stick it.”

Dean visibly relaxes at the sound of Castiel’s laughter, shoving him playfully on the shoulder. “You know what I mean…” He trails off, but picks back up after a moment. “I wanna feel close to you, y’know? I...I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“It’s not unpleasant...if done correctly, from my understanding.”

Dean quirks up an eyebrow, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “And your understanding comes from?”

“Strictly the unpleasant experiences…” he admits shyly, before turning his full attention to the half-naked teen sitting on the edge of the bed. He saunters over and settles himself between Dean’s spread legs, grabbing both sides of his face to kiss him properly. He pulls away to mutter, “Move up the bed.”

Dean does as he’s told and Castiel feels security settle around him. He is in control. No one is barking orders at him or taking what was not offered--this is a consenting, loving relationship. Castiel crawls up the bed to settle again between Dean’s parted thighs. He pushes his hips upwards against Dean’s and kisses him roughly, licking his way into his mouth. “Fuck…” Dean groans, meeting Castiel’s hips with equal force.

“That’s the idea,” Castiel remarks, laughing against the scratchy skin of Dean’s jaw and licking his way down the vein of his neck. He sucks at the base of Dean’s throat and circles his hips, feeling himself getting harder by the second. Cas knows that Dean can feel how much he wants this, and Castiel can feel just exactly how much Dean wants it, too.

Dean yanks him back up for a kiss as Castiel’s fingers go to work unfastening Dean’s faded blue jeans. He pulls away once more to kiss and lick his way down Dean’s chest, stopping to flick his tongue over each nipple before licking a stripe all the way down to his bellybutton.

Dean lifts his hips and Cas keeps eye contact as he slowly pulls Dean’s jeans down over the tops of his thighs. With the jeans still bunched around his knees, Dean watches Cas intently, waiting for his next move. Castiel lowers his head, keeping his gaze fixed on Dean and presses his open mouth to the harsh outline of Dean’s cock straining against his boxers.

The older boy’s hips lift at the contact, but Castiel pins him, holding his hips against the mattress. He gradually pulls Dean’s boxers down, kissing every expanse of skin as it is revealed to him. He treasures the edges of Dean’s hips and worships the soft fatty insides of his thighs. He kisses Dean’s knee and caresses his ankle, finally pulling the jeans and boxers off and throwing them to the ground.

“Touch yourself,” he murmurs to Dean, and begins unbuttoning his own shirt. He watches as Dean hesitantly takes himself in hand, stroking slowly and gazing at Castiel intently as he undresses. Castiel places his shirt on the floor and undoes his belt and jeans.

He stands to drop his pants and boxers to the floor, watching as Dean strokes himself more earnestly. He crawls back up onto the bed and slaps Dean’s hand away, replacing it with his own. He lowers his head to take Dean into his mouth, humming at the short gasp he makes.

“Cas…” Dean says breathlessly after a few minutes. “There’s...um...stuff in my bag. I need to grab it.” He pushes Castiel off of him and rummages in his bag on the side of the bed, pulling out a condom and a small bottle of lube. He smiles cheekily and places the items on the bed.

“I see someone came prepared,” Castiel teases, lying on his side facing Dean.

Dean blushes. “Shut up.”

Castiel brushes his lips against Dean’s, sliding his hands up the other boy’s naked form. He pushes Dean onto his back and settles beside him, reaching for the bottle of lube. “Spread your legs.”

Silently, Dean obeys and stares at the ceiling as Castiel pours a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. When he looks back over at Dean, he finds him in a complete state of terror. Castiel leans forward and kisses him firmly. “Calm down, Dean. It won’t hurt.” Castiel grabs a pillow with his dry hand and says, “Lift your hips.” Dean does, and he places the pillow beneath him. Pressing a kiss to the shell of Dean’s ear, Castiel positions a finger at Dean’s entrance and asks, “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Dean grumbles, eyes slammed shut. Castiel nudges him and whispers, “Dean look at me, please.” Once again, Dean obeys, and turns his head to lock eyes with him. He lowers his hand and brushes Dean's hole with his slick finger. "I've never done this before..."

Dean's breath hitches when Castiel presses his index finger in gently, up to the first knuckle. "Never done what before?" he asks, breathing hard through his nose.

"I've never been in control..." he answers, pushing his finger in completely and swirling it in one slow motion. Dean whines quietly, clutching at the sheets.

Castiel focuses on Dean's inner walls pulsing around him. How in the world is he going to fit in there? Dean is so tight...it's absolutely unbelievable. He can't even imagine what it would feel like to have that kind of pressure around his cock...

He swirls his finger again, pushing it in and out of Dean's body at a gradual speed. Lowering his head, Castiel licks a long stripe along the underside of Dean's cock and crooks his finger ever so slightly. Dean arches at the motion and gasps out a choked moan, "Do that, do that again."

Castiel smiles, brushing Dean's prostate again and watching as he bucks against Castiel's hand. "More, Cas. Please, need more."

He obliges, slipping another finger into Dean and grinding his own hips against the bed in search of some friction. He kisses the soft flesh of Dean's inner thigh and groans at the little breathy sounds escaping Dean. Twisting his wrist, Castiel watches Dean's entire body tense and quiver at the sensation. "Cas..."

He lifts his head from Dean's thigh and smirks. "Yes?"

"I need-"

"What do you need?"

Castiel wraps Dean's cock in his fist and pumps, scissoring his fingers within Dean. "FUCK!" Dean shouts, attempting to rein himself in. "I need you...inside me. Please, Cas, baby. Please."

Immediately, he removes his fingers from Dean, listening to the sigh that escapes the older boy's lips at the loss. He scrambles for the condom on the bed and slips it on, spreading some lube on his hard cock. Crawling between Dean's legs, he tenses at the first touch of Dean's hand around him. Just a few loose pulls on his dick, and then Dean is guiding Castiel's hard length to his entrance. Once he's lined up, Castiel pushes in gradually, stopping when Dean winces.

"Just give me a minute," Dean grunts, pulling Castiel down for a sloppy kiss. He slides his tongue across the roof of Castiel’s mouth and mutters, "More."

Once again, he inches further into Dean, biting at the flesh of Dean's shoulder to muffle his groan. He pauses again, letting Dean adjust to the intrusion. After another minute, he mumbles, "Ready?"

With a deep breath, Dean replies, "Yeah."

With a final shallow thrust, he completely sinks into Dean. His entire being feels like it's on fire. Dean is hot and slick and incredibly tight. "You're so tight..." he mutters, latching his mouth on the juncture of Dean's neck and sucking. Below him, Dean relaxes and slides his hands up Castiel's sides. Dragging his lips up Dean's jaw, Castiel brushes their mouths together, then bites down on Dean's lower lip and pulls at it.

"Move, Cas. Now."

Castiel makes shallow thrusts, releasing a stuttering sigh into Dean’s shoulder as the boy beneath him grinds back against his cock. “You feel unbelievable,” he gasps, grabbing a fistful of pillow beside Dean’s head and quickening his pace. Capturing Dean’s lips in a kiss, Castiel fumbles to twine their fingers together with one hand and hike one of Dean’s legs up with the other to get a better angle. “AH!” Dean shouts a strangled moan. “Fuck, Cas. Right there...do that again.”

And he does do it again, snapping his hips at the same angle and kissing Dean deeply. He runs his tongue over Dean’s and pulls all the way out before slamming back into him. He continues at a relentless pace while exploring every inch of Dean’s mouth with his tongue.

There’s a curling heated sensation in his lower abdomen that grows with each snap of his hips. Dean whispers against his lips urgently, “Cas… s’close. I love you s’freaking much...so much, baby.” Castiel grips Dean’s hand in his and presses his forehead to Dean’s, pounding into him with urgency.

“I kept thinking about you...and how this would feel, but this isn’t what I expected.” Castiel’s hips stutter slightly as he nears his impending orgasm. He wraps his free hand around Dean’s dick and tries his best to pump at the same beat of his snapping hips. Dean grips tightly at the back of his neck, yanking on the short hairs there. He cries out a string of curses as he spills his release over Castiel’s hand and across their chests.

The rippling effect of Dean’s insides clenching around Castiel’s cock sends him overboard into his own spiraling orgasm. He rides it out with shallow thrusts and quivers, sobbing into Dean’s neck, “I love you so much. I love you. I love you. So so so much.”

Dean soothes him, caressing the back of his neck and whispering nonsense. Castiel is relieved that Dean knows his tears are not born of sadness, but of relief. He presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Dean’s shoulder before pulling out of him gently and tossing the condom away.

When he lies down beside his boyfriend, Castiel finds that he feels completely at ease. They intertwine their limbs and close their eyes. Drifting off to sleep, their breathing patterns unite and their heart beats harmonize. If Castiel didn’t know any better, he might say that he feels whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR SUCH A LATE POST. I APOLOGIZE A THOUSAND TIMES OVER. School is basically over with so now I'll finally have time to write. Except more frequent updates! Sorry sorry sorry again. Special thanks to my beta Jenifer for being so quick to respond! Hope you all enjoyed it.


	14. Chapter 14

Rolling over in bed, Dean yawns and is rewarded with a mouthful of soft black hair. He grumbles to himself quietly, trying not to wake the sleeping boy beside him. The clock glows a faint 6:02 AM, and Dean sighs in relief, realizing that Cas slept through the night without a single nightmare. He can’t keep himself from smiling, knowing that Cas is actually getting a little bit better. After watching Cas break down over and over and over again, it was easy to wonder what was even left of him.

Dean remembers a time when he and Cas had gone into the city for the day and were walking down Haight, just window shopping. Dean had dragged Cas into an antique clothing shop and they were searching through the racks for weird stuff, when all of a sudden Cas had gone completely still. He’d had his hand midair when his eyes had landed on a ratty old sweatshirt. Dean hadn’t even had time to think before Cas was bounding out of the store and down the street. Dean had found him fifteen minutes later, curled up in an alley. Cas has never told him why that damn sweatshirt made him run like that, but Dean doesn’t have to think too hard to take a wild guess.

“Dean?” Cas’ gruff mumble snaps Dean back into the present. “What time is it?”

“It’s about six. My parents aren’t up yet,” he replies warmly, kissing Cas’ temple with his dry lips and inhaling the boy’s calming scent.

Castiel hums in acknowledgement, pressing a chaste kiss to Dean’s lips and sitting upright. “I should get back home, then.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and pulls on his clothes methodically. Dean always notices his coldness in the mornings, like Cas is afraid that if he shows any sort of affection the entire thing might fall right out from under him. “Your birthday is next week.” He looks over his shoulder at Dean and smiles mischieviously. “I wonder what could possibly happen.”

“Don’t you dare throw me a fucking party,” Dean growls, lying back and throwing an arm over his eyes. “I hate birthday parties.”

“Well, your mother is throwing you one anyways, but my gift to you is entirely different.”

“I hate you,” he retorts half-heartedly.

Cas shakes his head, smiling. “No, you don’t.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Silence falls over them like a warm comforter. "I don't think turning eighteen will be all that different from being seventeen."

Castiel walks over to the window and admires Dean quietly. "I'm sure it will be different." His reassurance is ingenuine and Dean can't help but roll his eyes. Castiel snorts and admits, "You are right. It really won't be different at all. Only when you die, will you be different."

He props himself up on his elbows. "Why?"

"Because you won't be breathing."

"So it goes..." Dean chimes, leaning against the headboard and crossing his arms over his chest. "See you."

Cas opens the window and answers with a smile on his face, "See you." He climbs out the window and closes it behind him. Dean stares at the glass feeling as though it was all a dream.

His limbs become restless, forcing him from the security of his sheets and into his running clothes. As quietly as possible, he makes his way downstairs and out into the bright, cold world.

\---

Castiel listens absently to Jo rattling off news about her week as they walk through the mall's doors. Castiel can literally feel the forty dollars that Ellen gave him burning in his pocket. Jo guides them in and out of stores, but Castiel continues to come out of each empty-handed.

Finding a birthday present for Dean should not be this difficult. But each store is like a massive maze that Castiel has to navigate just so he can get out of it again. Nothing here is sentimental in any way and Castiel's frustration continues to build. Finally, they leave, Jo carrying a bag of various CDs Dean has been begging for since Christmas and Castiel with the same forty dollars he had when he walked in.

"What are you going to get him?" Jo rounds a corner and heads towards an older part of town. "You can't just get him nothing."

Castiel heaves a resigned sigh and looks out the window, his eyes landing on the storefront of a bookstore. He perks up immediately. "Pull over! Jo!"

She gives him a confused glance and pulls over a couple stores down from Castiel's destination. "Okay, but why?"

"Stay here," he answers, unbuckling his seatbelt. "I know what I want to get Dean."

Jo's opening her mouth to ask something else, but he cuts her off by shutting the door and jogging over to the bookstore. The smell of old books hits him instantly when he pushes open the door. He smiles at the woman behind the counter and walks over to her. "Do you happen to have any signed copies of Vonnegut's novels?"

She quirks an eyebrow. "I believe so."

"For how much?"

"How much d'you have?" she retorts. She has black skin, harsh eyes, and a thick southern accent. She's somewhat intimidating. Castiel keeps the smile on his face.

"All I have is forty, but I'll pay it off."

"I've got a collection of his short stories here for $90, since it ain't in the best of conditions."

He nods urgently, pulling the money out of his pocket and placing it on the counter. "This is what I have, but I can pay in installments or I will work for free."

"Alright, son. I'm Missouri and I think you just got yourself a book and a job." She sits back in her chair and smiles warmly at him, eyeing him up and down.

He extends his hand and replies, "I'm Castiel."

*****

Dean is leaning against the lockers, listening to Gordon ramble on and on about some stupid party he went to, and all he can think about is the way Cas' butt looks in the jeans he’s wearing today. Across the hall, Cas stands with his back to him, excitedly describing something to Pam.

Gordon snaps his fingers in Dean's face, refocusing his attention. "Winchester. What the hell has gotten into you?"

"Nothing."

Tilting his head and looking Dean over, Gordon leans forward to ask, "You seeing Pam? I just caught you checking her out."

"No!" Dean answers a little too quickly. "We're just friends."

"What's this?" Gordon perks up, blocking his view of Cas. "Has the infamous Dean Winchester finally hit a dry spell?"

Dean laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, I have not."

"When was the last time you fucked a girl?" Crossing his arms over his chest, Gordon traps Dean by blocking his path to escape. "Hm?"

"I don't...I don't remember." He stammers helplessly, locking eyes with Cas and pleading for help. "At that party, I had sex with Anna."

"You did not!" Gordon shouts in disbelief, covering his mouth with one hand. "Shit. That was before Christmas. It's been like two months!"

"Listen, Gordon...I don't need to hook up with-"

"I can't believe this! Dean Winch-"

Castiel appears before them, a smile plastered onto his pale face. "Dean. I left something in your car. Can we go get it?"

Taking a step away from Dean, Gordon eyes Cas warily, as if he had some sort of infectious disease. Hurriedly, Dean replies, "Yeah, Cas. Sure. See you around, Gordon." As he and Cas walk away, he lowers his head and mutters, "Thank you."

"You looked as if you were drowning," Cas chuckles.

The parking lot is empty, except for a few cars belonging to students who stay late for sports. The two boys climb into the Impala and Dean releases a heavy sigh. Turning his head, he asks, "What do you want to do?"

"Drive somewhere," Castiel requests, looking straight ahead with a small smirk on his face.

Dean quickly starts the car and he drives until they reach an abandoned house by the beach. He parks behind the garage, facing the water, and cuts the engine. He nervously taps his thumbs against the steering wheel. No matter how many times they do this, Dean is always so freaking nervous. It's probably the fear of fucking up and forcing Cas into a state of panic, although he would never admit that.

Without a word, Castiel climbs into the backseat and waits patiently for Dean to follow. Once they are both settled, Castiel meets Dean's eyes and surges forward to crash their lips together. Dean opens his mouth hungrily when Cas flicks his tongue over his bottom lip and he groans as Cas pushes him against the door of the car. "I want to give you a pre-birthday present," Cas mumbles. Dean's hands go to grasp the back of his neck, but Cas snatches them away and pins them above his head forcefully. A hot white surge of pleasure goes straight to Dean's half-hard cock and he wiggles his hips impatiently.

"No touching, Winchester." Teasingly, Cas hovers over Dean's mouth with his swollen lips. He grabs Dean by the hips and lays him out on the backseat, continuing to hover over him with a smile. With nimble fingers, he pulls Dean's shirt over his head and unfastens his jeans, tossing both aside.

Lying beneath Cas in only his boxers, Dean shivers at the slightest touch of Cas grazing his fingertips over his stomach. Cas slides his hands up Dean's chest and kisses the hollow part of his neck.

"What was Gordon talking to you about?"

Struggling to keep his hands to himself, Dean groans as Cas flicks his tongue over one of his nipples and uses his free hand to pinch the other. "Fuck..." he bites out, refocusing his attention on Cas' question. "Um, he was asking me, about the, um, about the last time I had sex..."

Castiel huffs hot breath over Dean's erect, wet nipple and peers up at him through his eyelashes. "And what did you tell him?" Lazily, Cas licks his way down Dean's stomach, watching the boy squirm beneath him. "Did you tell him that you let me fuck you senseless the other night? Did you tell him that you like to take it up the ass?" Dean groans loudly, canting his hips upward. Cas mouths at the shape of Dean's cock through the thin boxer material, pressing his tongue against it.

"N...no," he mumbles in return, draping his arm over his eyes.

Cas slips his thumbs under the waistband of Dean's boxers and pulls them down slowly. His eyes grow dark at the sight of Dean's cock bobbing out, leaking at the tip. Crawling over him, Cas leans forward and presses his mouth to Dean's ear. "I want you to be begging for my cock by the time I'm done with you." An involuntary groan escapes Dean and he lifts his hips in a desperate attempt to grind against Cas.

"No touching." Sucking at the base of his ear, Cas holds Dean's hips down with his free hand. He glides lower and presses a light kiss to his inner thigh. "I'm not going to touch your dick. Not once."

"Cas..." Dean releases a needy breath that sounds more like a whine than anything else.

Smirking up at him, Cas lifts his hand to Dean's mouth and commands, "Open." Dean opens his mouth obediently and closes it around Cas' two fingers, swirling his tongue and sucking. Cas watches him intently and releases a shaky breath. When Cas pulls his spit-slicked hand away, he maintains a firm gaze with Dean and nudges his legs open.

"Close your eyes, Dean." And he does, listening to the sound of Cas shifting above him. He jerks at the soft brush of Cas' wet fingertip against his entrance before relaxing at Cas' soothing words. "I'm here. I got you."

His breath hitches as Cas pushes a finger into his entrance in one quick motion. His eyes fly open in time to see Cas sit back against the door and pull Dean's lower half into his lap with one leg on either side of him. With a small growl, Cas looks at Dean and swirls his finger, forcing a loud groan from Dean. "Close your eyes."

Pulling his finger all the way out and pushing it back in again, Cas hooks his finger and barely brushes Dean's prostate, causing him to cry out. "Christ!" Dean gasps when Cas unexpectedly adds a second finger, stretching Dean wider. And as Cas scissors and pushes his fingers even deeper, Dean recognizes the differences between this Cas and the one that is so desperately broken.

This Cas has control. This Cas is strong and demanding and relentless. Dean loves this Cas with a ferocity that scares him at times. He adores the way in which Cas just knows exactly what to do and how to do it, leaving Dean aching for more. The other Cas is quiet and unsteady, having to hand over the power to Dean. The other Cas knows nothing about receiving the pleasure that he so willingly gives because he fears that he is unworthy of it. Dean has tried so damn hard to show him just how much he deserves to be worshipped but that's hard to do when he can't touch the younger boy without him falling apart. He still loves him deeply, though.

Purposefully, Cas swipes his fingers over that little bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure and he has Dean seeing stars. Without realizing it Dean's hand flies to his ignored dick and pumps his fist desperately. Within a matter of seconds, Cas has pulled his fingers from Dean and pinned Dean's hands above his head again. "No touching yourself either," he growls, grinding his hips down against Dean's bare cock. Dean whimpers, tipping his head back and baring his neck to Cas. He takes the hint and kisses down the column of Dean's throat, biting down where his neck meets his shoulder.

When Cas finally pushes his fingers back into him, Dean is a mess. He grinds back against Cas' fingers helplessly and happily obeys when Cas flips him over onto his hands and knees, sticking his ass up in the air eagerly. He fucks himself on Cas' fingers until he feels like he is spiraling out of control in a flurry of white heat. "Cas, please. Fuck me...I need you...baby, please."

Running a soothing hand down his back, Cas places a kiss at the base of Dean's spine. "I told you I'd have you begging for my cock."

"Shit, Cas," Dean huffs, feeling the loss when Cas removes his fingers to get undressed. There's a lot of rustling behind him and the sound of a packet being opened, then Cas's hands are back on his hips. Lining himself up, Cas slides into Dean inch by inch.

When he finally bottoms out, they are both gasping for air. Cas stops for a moment, but Dean gets impatient, leaning forward and then ramming himself back onto Cas' dick. Behind him, Cas makes a choked sound.

"Move, Cas," he grunts, grinding back on the younger boy. Cas obeys and starts pounding into Dean at a relentless pace, striking Dean's prostate with every other thrust.

"Oh! Fuck!" Dean shouts, digging his nails into the the leather. He curses himself for possibly damaging the seat, but the world feels like it depends solely on him having this fucking orgasm.

Gripping Dean’s hips with bruising pressure and pounding into Dean, Cas growls, "I want you to remember this the next time you talk to Gordon and you have lie about fucking someone else. I want you to remember this moment."

"Holy fuck..." he moans, feeling a white wave wash over him as he comes all over the leather upholstery.

"I want you to remember that you didn’t fuck some brainwashed bimbo." Dean’s still seeing stars  as Cas flips him onto his back and pushes back into him, muttering into his neck. “Next time you tell Gordon about some imaginary girl; know that you’re a goddamn liar,” Cas continues breathlessly as his hips stutter and he bites down onto Dean’s shoulder.

Cas doesn't let up, continuing to fuck Dean until he falters and comes with a gasp. He drapes his body over Dean and kisses him gently, resting his forehead against the hot skin of his chest. Lazily, he pulls out of Dean and dresses himself. He grabs a handful of napkins from the glove compartment and wipes everything down.

Watching him silently, Dean pulls on his clothes and breathes deeply through his nose. "You're a possessive son of a bitch," he acknowledges with a small smile, looking at Cas out of the corner of his eye. "I'll be sore for a goddamn week."

Cas laughs and blushes. "I got a little carried away."

Leaning over, Dean catches Cas in a soft kiss. "I love you."

Cas rests his head against Dean's and answers, "I love you too."

*****

_"Alright. C'mon, we're almost there," Cas chimes, glancing up and down the street before crossing it with Meg walking alongside him and Andy trailing close behind. A blanket of gray clouds and fog hangs over the city, keeping the tops of the skyscrapers out of sight. When it starts to drizzle, Castiel drapes an arm around Andy protectively and pulls his hood over his head. They run into the museum just as the downpour begins. They pay for their tickets and move on to the exhibits._

_Andy glances around the room, rolling his eyes dramatically. "This is boring."_

_Castiel nudges him. "Only if you let it be."_

_"He has a point, Andy." Ruffling the smaller boy's hair, Meg smiles at him fondly. It's been two months. Two successful months of keeping Andy safe. Two months of beatings and rapes and senseless torture all for the sake of Andy's innocence. Beneath the layers of dark clothes, Castiel hides something sinister and he cannot bear to look at his naked form in the mirror anymore. It hurts too much. His body is purple and blue, beaten and broken, used and worn out. Meg takes the occasional attack, but as far as anyone's concerned, Cas is the repeat victim--day in and day out._

_"Castiel," Meg murmurs, poking his side with her elbow. He takes in a sharp breath and grits his teeth together, feeling a pang spiral through his body from his ribs. He clutches at it, knowing that something must be bruised or fractured. He's already gone to the emergency room twice this month. If he goes again, they will notice, and then he won't be able to protect Andy._

_Meg attempts to comfort him, apologizing fervently. They walk through the gallery and peer at all the paintings and photographs. Castiel is fond of the art museum. His mother would bring him here as he grew up, but she stopped once his father left. He remembers sneaking into her room on Saturdays and begging her to take him out to the museum._

_She didn't talk very much in those days. She slept a lot and ate very little. Castiel soon learned how to cook for himself and forgot all about bedtime stories._

_He stops at a painting that he recalls his mother admiring time and time again. Standing there, he watches the blues and greens trapeze across the canvas and mold into a picture. A sharp sting comes to his eyes and he looks down, willing the tears away._

_They walk and walk through the rows of art, and once they have seen it all, they step back out onto the wet pavement. It's still raining. Castiel absorbs it into his pores and smiles. Draping his arms over both Meg and Andy's shoulders, Castiel guides them to a small deli and orders them a large sub to share._

_Sitting at a table under an overhang, they eat and laugh and talk. Suddenly, Andy looks at them and announces, "Thank you for everything you're doing. I...I appreciate it. Even though you think I didn't know, I want you to know that I do." He glances between his two older foster siblings and continues, "We will find a way out. Together."_

_Castiel smiles, wishing he still had the same childlike hope that Alistair has yet to destroy within Andy._

*****

"He's home! Everyone get down!" Sam whispers loudly, shushing everyone. They turn off the lights and crouch down, waiting for the door to swing open. Dean steps inside and turns on the light, calling out, "Is anyone home--"

"Surprise!" The small crowd shouts in unison, Castiel standing among them. Dean looks around wide-eyed and laughs, completely shocked at the display before him.

He enters the crowd, hugging people as he goes. Castiel retreats back to the kitchen and helps Mary put candles on the cake. It's a few minutes before Dean appears in the archway.

"Hi sweetie!" Mary chimes, hugging her son warmly. "Did we surprise you?"

Dean nods, looking at Cas. "Yes, you guys did. I had no idea."

Castiel winks at him and leans against the oven. "Go back out and enjoy your party."

Hesitantly, Dean goes, leaving Mary and Castiel alone. They light the candles and go out into the living room. The entire room erupts into song and Dean blushes beneath the warm glow of the candles.

He blows them out and smiles. There's a lot of socializing and laughter. Castiel leans against a wall and watches the commotion of the party.

"You've been stayin outta trouble." John Winchester appears next to him. Castiel straightens up and looks forward, refusing to meet the man's eyes. He continues, "I don't know what that boy sees in you. He's a good kid, and as far as I'm concerned, he ain't gonna let you keep him from success."

Castiel nods silently, wishing he could run, but John leaves without another word. Nervously, Castiel exhales and heads up the stairs to the restroom. Once the door is closed, he leans over the sink and waits to vomit. His entire body is shaking from head to toe. He can feel his stomach contracting within him. A small panic rises up his throat and squeezes his eyes shut. Minutes pass, and he finally allows his body to relax.

He presses his ear to the door and hears the telltale signs of Dean stomping upstairs. When the footsteps near the bathroom door, Castiel swings the door open and drags Dean inside. With his body wedged between the door and Dean's body, he has nothing to do but wait.

"I've been watching you all night," Dean admits quietly, looking at him expectantly. "It's taken a lot of self-restraint not to kiss you downstairs."

Castiel swallows audibly, replying, "Happy Birthday." With a hint of interest in his eyes, Dean leans forward and breathes hot across the skin of Castiel's neck. He shivers, leaning into the sensation. "I’ve been watching you, too."

Unexpectedly, Dean wedges himself between Castiel's legs and pins him to the door, grinding their hips together. With surprise and arousal, he tips his head back with a moan, which Dean silences with a hand over his mouth. "Dean," Castiel groans when Dean grips the back of his thighs, wrapping his legs around his waist. Fisting a handful of Dean's hair, Cas slams their lips together and thrusts his tongue into his mouth. Moaning into the kiss, Dean slides Cas along the wall and places him on top of the bathroom counter. Hands gripping the counter and legs pulling Dean closer, Castiel lifts his mouth to Dean's ear.

"I want to give you a birthday present." Trailing his bottom lip across the shell of Dean's ear and feeling Dean shiver, he continues, "Not here though..."

Licking his lips anxiously, Dean drops his forehead to Cas' shoulder. "What is it?"

"I want you to fuck me." He tightens his grip on the counter when Dean freezes.

"Cas..." Dean's breathy groan only reveals his desperation and disbelief.

Kissing his jawline, Castiel murmurs, "I mean it." Sliding his hands down Dean's clothed back, he admits, "I've been thinking about it for awhile now."

"Are you sure?" Dean presses their bodies together again, exhaling deeply through his nose as if he were restraining himself.

Licking his lips, Castiel nods. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Now?" Lowering his forehead to Castiel's shoulder, Dean breathes heavily again and grips Cas' sides. Quietly, Castiel answers, "Not now." Dean groans and pulls away, straightening his clothes.

"When?"

Hopping of the counter, Castiel smiles. "What are you doing this weekend?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOPS CLIFFHANGER...sort of....not really. New chapter in the works. Please comment/kudos! THANKS. Follow me on tumblr @ casbelieves.


	15. Chapter 15

A light rain has begun; Castiel leans against the trunk of a tree and watches it fall. When his mother was still alive, they used to watch the rain from the window and listen to the radio. It is what he likes to remember most about her - the fact that she loved rain. Perhaps it is one of the few things that brought her joy.  
  
 _"Castiel, sweetheart, I made you a snack." His mother, bright-eyed and beautiful, swirls into the room with a plate of cookies in her hand. The record player doles out the sound of antique swing music, playing with the strings of Castiel's heart. He sways absent-mindedly to the beat, smiling up at his mother's pale complexion and knowing there is pain etched into the freshly formed wrinkles of her forehead. Father has been gone for two months now, and the days are only growing colder and shorter with his absence. She smooths the hair from his eyes and gazes down at him. "You are my little angel."_  
  
 _He takes a cookie from the plate, biting into it happily. "Thank you." He knows there is something wrong with her, but he never talks about it._  
  
 _Glancing out the window at the rain, she extends her hand to him. "C'mon Cas, dance with me, baby."_  
  
Castiel takes another hit off of his dwindling joint, holding in a lungful for a moment before releasing it into the winter fog. It burns going down and he relishes the feel of it. February is cold, but the smoke has softened much of its frigidness. Everything around him now appears mesmerizing, as if he is spiraling through a dream. He thinks of a million things all at once and the world has shrunk down to his personal world, where nothing exists except what he knows: he knows that he is royally fucked and that Dean loves him. The proximity of the red-hot embers of the joint and his finger takes him by surprise, and he curses and drops it onto the wet ground.  
  
"Oh! Naughty boy..." Anna tsks playfully as he stoops to pick it up. Pulling her hood over her head, she teases him, "Don’t you think ya’ had enough?"  
  
Castiel glares at her in silence and stomps out the remains of his joint. "Shut up."  
  
"Jeez! I'm just trying to-"  
  
"Don't!" he shouts, pulling away from her outstretched hand. "Don't try anything. Has it ever occurred to you that I don't want to hear it?"  
  
"You can't hate me forever," she spits, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "It was once. Don’t blame this all on me, Castiel! It takes two, y'know."  
  
"Dean apologized. He regrets it. You show no remorse. You haven't even apologized," he lists restlessly. He knows she is right, but he refuses to accept it. It would hurt too much to accept that Dean had a choice -- he could have said no. He didn’t say no, but he could have. Instead, he fucked Anna in the back of the Impala and Castiel will never forget it. Raking his eyes over her hooded figure, it hurts more knowing that he trusted her and she broke that trust.  
  
She watches him closely with her pale blue eyes and looks out at the rain. “He was so sad, and I just wanted him to feel better.”  
  
“I think you were the one that was sad and lonely and desperate,” he answers bitterly, chewing the inside of his cheek. If anything, Castiel feels that he and Anna are very similar, in the sense that they have both seen a lot of things they really shouldn't have. All the other kids are pretty.... normal? They haven't experienced the shit that Anna and Castiel have, anyway. For a moment, neither of them says anything. The rain does all the talking, and when Anna finally speaks again, Castiel is too far gone to recognize her sincerity. “I’m sorry that I took advantage of him.”  
  
Nodding, Castiel smiles at her half-heartedly and watches her disappear through the side gate. Pulling his collar up, he dashes through the rain and into the sanctity of the house. He feels like a feather floating aimlessly through the clouds of heaven and down to earth.

Reality pulls him down. Dean will be here soon, and that worries Castiel very much. The worry stems from the harsh reality that Castiel is really fucked up, and in order to fuck, he is reliant on getting fucked up to ease the process. Fuck, he thinks, I’m a mess. Although, a mess implies the possibility of being clean, and he knows fully well that he will never have the opportunity of purity. Messiness has a cure, but trauma does not. Trauma is not a side effect of laziness or time - trauma is the outcome of circumstance beyond control, and Castiel knows that his anxiety, his pain, his suffering is anything but messy. It’s destructive. It destroys lives, specifically his own.  
  
Bounding up the stairs, he reaches the third floor landing panting for air. The rooms are still - not even the swish of a fan to stir the dust on the shelves. The house is empty. Bobby is on a fishing trip, Ellen took Gabe and Jo on a college tour, Adam was moved to a new home, and Anna just went somewhere. Stalking into his room, Castiel changes out of his wet coat and into a long-sleeved shirt. Three floors below him, he hears the sound of the front door closing and footsteps coming up the stairs. The room comes alive. It is buzzing around him and Castiel clings to his dresser with both hands, suddenly very aware of the situation at hand.  
  
A boiling sense of uneasiness rises in his chest and he shudders. He wishes he could will away the fear that fills his throat, but he knows that there is nothing he can do to subside it. Fear is something he has grown accustomed to. There is no cure for it. He has lived through so many kinds of fear that they all blend together. The world has shown him the fear of abandonment, the fear of violation, the fear of uncertainty, the fear of happiness, the fear of change. He knows it all, and although he prefers some kinds over others, this fear is much different than any he has experienced before.  
  
“Cas…” Dean calls softly from the doorway, folding his arms across his chest and looking him over. “Are you ok--"

  
“If you ask me that one more time, I think I might vomit,” he snaps frantically, closing his eyes and breathing deeply through his nose. Without another word, Dean shuffles over to him and gazes down at him fondly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, caressing the curve of Castiel’s cheek with his knuckles. Castiel remembers similar compliments spewing from Alistair’s mouth whenever he was too close for comfort. Recognizing the pain on Castiel's face, Dean falters momentarily and smiles sadly at him. “How high are you right now?”  
  
“I’m not—“  
  
Shaking his head, Dean inches away. Castiel snatches his hand and pulls him back. “I’m sorry. It’s just easier this way.”  
  
Tilting his head in disbelief and huffing out a laugh, Dean replies, “You shouldn’t have to get high so we can have sex….I thought….I thought you wanted this?”  
  
 _"Don't you want it, Castiel?" Alistair growls and grabs a handful of Castiel's hair from behind him, bending him over the nearest piece of furniture. "Tell me you want my cock."_  
  
When Castiel comes back to reality, he is lightly banging his head against the wall, humming loudly. Dean is two steps away, watching him break. He steadies himself, stopping his movements.  
  
"Cas..."  
  
“I do! I want to,” Castiel reassures him and pushes off of the wall, holding Dean’s face with both hands and forcing him to meet his gaze. His heart pounds mercilessly, threatening to break free of his chest. Panic fills his blood. “I want to. I’m scared, that’s all. Just scared.”  
  
There is still hurt in Dean’s eyes and Castiel sighs helplessly, pulling away. He backs himself up until he hits the wall and closes his eyes. There is hurt in Dean’s eyes and there is a hurt in the center of Castiel’s chest that will not fade away, no matter what he does. There is a hurt here that aches at the worst of moments. It aches at the brush of Dean’s lips to his shoulder or the sound of slamming doors. This ache knows nothing of wrong and right times; it comes when it is called and stays for as long as it wants. An ache like this makes it hard to breathe, as if the air in the room no longer exists and his chest is a black hole eating away everything that brings him joy.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Dean presses their foreheads together. Shakily, Castiel takes a deep breath and wills himself to believe Dean’s words.  
  
“I know you won’t.” He curls his fingers around Dean’s hip and steadies himself there - allowing himself to enjoy this moment. “I can’t help it when the others come back, that’s all. When everyone else who has hurt me comes back and haunts me. I can’t control them.”  
  
“How do you feel right now?”  
  
Sighing and placing his head on Dean’s shoulder, Castiel answers, “Tired.”  
  
“Okay. We can sleep.” Castiel allows himself to be guided to bed, and they lie down facing each other. Castiel drifts off without a second thought. Meanwhile, Dean watches the younger boy sleep, brushing his dark hair from his fluttering eyes. He remains there for an hour, just watching, but eventually he slips out of the room to take a leak. When he returns, Cas is exactly as he left him. Crawling back onto the bed, Dean drifts in and out of a light slumber. He dreams of all the unexplained scars littered across Cas’ body.

*****

Two hours later, he wakes to the sound of crumpling paper and shuffling feet. Across the room, Castiel smiles from ear to ear and holds up a rectangular object wrapped in the comics section of the newspaper. Settling onto the end of the bed, Cas slides the package across the sheets and into Dean’s waiting hands.  
  
“What is this?” he grumbles sleepily. Castiel gestures in encouragement and mutters, “Go ahead. Open it.”  
  
With nimble fingers, he peels off the tape and unwraps the gift. Pulling away the remaining paper, he can’t help but gasp at the sight of the book in his hands.  
  
“Is this—“ he stammers, flipping the book over and reading the back cover before opening it up to the title page. Right there, scribbled across the yellowing pages, is Kurt Vonnegut’s perfectly aged signature. He brushes the pad of his thumb over the faded blue ink and exhales sharply, clutching the book in his hands. “Is this really signed by him?”  
  
Castiel replies with a smile. “Yes. I had to get a job to pay for it, but I couldn’t think of anything else you’d like.” He points a delicate finger at the signature and gazes at Dean carefully. “It’s authentic. I mean, look at it.”  
  
And he does. He wishes he could burn it into his memory forever. “I love it s’freaking much.” He closes it and places it on the bedside table, looking over at Cas. He inches closer, until he is fully straddling the younger boy's legs. Castiel catches Dean's mouth in a bruising kiss, digging his fingers into the flesh of his hips.  
  
Dean catches Cas’ bottom lip between his teeth and pulls at it, pushing Cas down onto the bed and hovering over him. Licking into Cas' mouth, Dean flicks his tongue across Cas' bottom lip and clutches at his shirt desperately. Their tongues dance together, deepening the kiss. Castiel makes a little noise in the back of his throat, encouraging Dean to grind down onto him.

Urgently, he shoves the hem of Cas’ t-shirt up his chest and kisses the revealed skin. Castiel groans in response, sliding his hands into Dean’s hair and tugging gently. As Dean's mouth goes to work sucking dark marks onto Castiel's chest, his hands unfasten the younger boy's low-slung jeans and push them down his thighs.  He moves down swiftly and takes Cas’ half-hard cock into his mouth.

Dropping his hands from Dean’s head and clutching at the sheets, Castiel lets out a strangled moan as Dean swallows Castiel’s shaft down to the base, swirling his tongue on each upstroke. Curiously, Dean flicks his tongue over the tip and smiles when Cas releases a heavy whine from the back of his throat. He expertly presses his tongue against the glans of Castiel’s cock, coating it with thick saliva. Slipping the head back into his mouth and hollowing out his cheeks, Dean sucks and bobs his head to build a rhythm.  
  
The sensation of Dean's hands and mouth on his body overwhelms Castiel, sending him into a frenzy. He clings to the bed, twisting his hands into the sheets and arching his back. He stutters franticly, “D-dean, can we, please, um, please sl-slow down…I can’t - I need to be able to think for a second.” Without complaint, Dean pulls off of his cock with a wet pop, pressing a light kiss to his hipbone.  
  
“Okay, I’m giving you full control here, Cas.” He sits back on his haunches and flattens his ruffled hair half-heartedly. Castiel wishes he could tangle his fingers in it again. Lowering his voice a notch and pressing the heel of his hand against his clothed erection, Dean groans. “Tell me what you want me to do.”  
  
Eyeing him eagerly, Castiel uses his elbows to prop himself up. Dean is wearing entirely too much clothing. “Take off your shirt,” he commands softly, pulling his own off and smiling when he catches Dean gazing at him helplessly. He flings the garment onto the floor, pointing at Dean and saying, "C'mon, stud. Take it off." He laughs when Dean unceremoniously pulls the shirt over his head and throws it into a corner of the room.

Sliding his own hand down his bare chest and flicking a thumb over his hardened nipple, he smiles when Dean sucks in a breath, his eyes following the movement. Dean admires the expanse of Castiel's naked body: his flushed cock slicked with his spit, unnamed scars, dark little moles. Cas' voice cuts in sharply. “Take off your jeans and underwear, I want..." He trails off restlessly, licking his lips and imagining what's to come.  
  
"You want what, Cas?" Dean teases, attempting to deepen his voice and trying not to touch himself through his jeans.  
  
"I want to see you naked. Now, Dean."  
  
Scrambling to get off the bed, Dean stands and yanks his pants down his thighs as soon as they are unzipped. Throwing his own jeans off to the side, Castiel allows himself to look over the naked form of Dean Winchester, knowing that no one else sees him the way he does. He's all tanned skin and ripples of muscled flesh. He's gorgeous, and Castiel knows that Dean is aware of how perfect he is. God, every bit of him is absolutely beautiful. His gaze wanders over Dean's broad shoulders and toned stomach, sliding down to settle upon his untouched erection.

Dean just stands there - his body illuminated by the fading light from the bay window - waiting patiently for his next orders. “Come here.” Castiel gestures him forward and slides up the bed, resting against the pillows and spreading his legs for Dean to settle in between. There's a moment when Dean doesn't move, and Castiel begins to worry that this isn't what Dean wants. But, to his relief, Dean crawls up, pressing a kiss to his stomach and resting his hands on the tops of Castiel's thighs. “What next?”  
  
"There is stuff...in my...in my dr-drawer." Castiel stutters out his response, closing his eyes to ease his nerves. "Can you, uh, grab it?"  
  
Surveying the boy beneath him, Dean opens up the bedside drawer and pulls out a condom and a small bottle of lube. He leans back with the items in hand and gazes down at Cas' trembling form, suddenly very aware that this might not be what they want it to be. Even if they both want it, Cas' mind could betray him, and that might leave them both a little shocked and shaken.  
  
"I love you," Dean reminds him. Resting his hands on top of the younger boy's trembling ones, he wonders what he can do to make this easier on Cas. "Look at me, please." This is supposed to be a happy moment, Dean thinks. This isn't meant to be scary. "If you want out...we can - we can stop," he continues, although his body is betraying him, "You don't gotta do this, baby. We can call this entire thing off, I promise I won't say a word about it ever again."  
  
Curling his fingers around the curve of Dean's wrist, Castiel rasps. "I want to feel you inside me. I do, I really do." With a deep breath, he wraps his legs around Dean - digging his heels into Dean's lower back - and pulls him down on top of him. Their aching cocks slide together, trapped between their stomachs. Quickly, Cas wraps a trembling hand around them both and fists them eagerly, slicking the skin with pre-come. Dean lowers his head into the crook of Cas' neck and brushes his lips over the heated flesh, biting down at the juncture of neck and shoulder.  
  
"Cas...s'good baby...feels s'good." Making shallow thrusts into Cas' hand, Dean kisses the sensitive skin below his ear. Fumbling to reach for the bottle of lube, Dean distracts Cas from his movements by pinching his nipple between his index finger and thumb. With the small bottle in hand, Dean pulls away and pours a generous amount into his free hand.  
  
Staring into Cas' cerulean blue eyes, Dean whispers. "Do you trust me?"  
  
"With my life," he responds, voice cracking slightly.  
  
Nodding, Dean nudges Cas' leg with his wrist and snatches a pillow from behind him. "Spread your legs a little more and lift your hips." Obediently, Cas shifts and Dean slides the pillow beneath him, brushing the hair from his eyes lovingly. Dipping his hand past Cas' leaking cock, Dean presses the tip of his index finger to Cas' entrance hesitantly.  
  
Castiel gasps at the initial feeling, digging his fingers into the base of Dean's scalp. "I've got you, Cas. I'm here." Closing his eyes, he feels Dean graze his teeth over Cas' nipples as he pushes his finger in up to the first knuckle. Involuntarily, Castiel clenches and whimpers as Dean pushes in fully. Trying his best to relax his body, he manages not to fight the intrusion, focusing instead on Dean licking and biting down the expanse of his chest.  
  
"Oh shit..." Clutching at Dean's shoulders, he grapples for some sense of reality when Dean takes his throbbing cock into his mouth and slowly begins pumping his finger in and out of him. Castiel shudders helplessly, practically sobbing obscenities as Dean adds a second finger. All of his attention is focused on the sensation of Dean stretching him wide. He can feel his impending orgasm beginning to build and fears that he might come before Dean is even inside him.  
  
"Fuck me, Dean," he pleads, pulling Dean up by the neck and kissing him aggressively - forcing the older boy’s mouth wide, sliding their tongues together, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. Within him, Dean crooks his fingers and brushes Cas' prostate, forcing Castiel to break the kiss in order to throw his head back in an explicit moan.  
  
Shaking his head and pressing a kiss to Cas' collarbone, Dean answers, "Not yet, baby..." Sliding down Cas' quivering body, Dean scissors his fingers before adding a third. He watches the boy beneath him arch up in to the touch and cry out, fisting his hands in his hair.  
  
"Fuck, Dean..." Cas yelps as Dean hits his prostate on an upstroke. "I need you, now."  
  
"You aren't ready yet," Dean replies, watching his fingers disappear within Cas again and again. He doesn't want to rush this...if he does, he might hurt Cas. The last thing he wants to do in a moment like this is hurt Cas. There’s an ache building in the center of his chest, though, and he knows it’s the memories of all the other times he’s already hurt Cas. He slows his movements, pulling away slightly - a frown forming at the corners of his mouth.  
  
Sitting up, Cas snatches Dean's hand pumping in and out of his body and steadies it, pulling it out and sobbing silently at the loss. "Dean, I promise, I want this. I love you, and you've been so good to me from the start. I want to do this."  
  
Dean looks down at his hands, refusing to look Cas in the eyes, because he feels like he's going to cry and he doesn't know why. "I don't wanna hurt you..." he whispers, voice cracking.  
  
Shaking his head and smiling weakly, Cas tips Dean's face upwards. Their eyes meet and Dean releases a shaky breath. Castiel smiles. "You could never hurt me."  
  
Nodding to reassure himself, Dean grins crookedly. "Okay, alright. What's next?"  
  
"Put on a condom and lie down," Cas murmurs, brushing a stray tear from Dean's cheek. Castiel straddles his thighs, feels himself shaking with nerves "Ready?" he whispers, grabbing the head of Dean's cock and guiding it to his entrance.  
  
"Yeah."

Castiel nods at Dean in affirmation. He hesitates and chuckles softly, looking down at Dean. "You can touch me, you know." Instantly, Dean's hands are on his hips, pulling him further down onto his cock. Castiel tips his head back and curses, "Fuck!"  
  
"That's the idea..."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Castiel leans forward as if he were going to pull off of Dean. "Sorry, what did you just say?"  
  
"Cas! No...no, please," he whines, squeezing Cas' hips in a desperate attempt to keep him in place.  
  
Lowering his mouth to Dean's ear, Cas brushes his lips to the soft skin and murmurs, "Shut up and fuck me, then." Eliciting a combination of a groan and a laugh, Dean pulls at Cas’ hips and fully seats him onto his dick. Biting into the flesh of Dean's shoulder, Castiel sobs. "Ah!"  
  
"Christ Cas', you're s'tight." Dean worries his lower lip between his teeth, trying his best not to thrust up. "Can - can I move?" As soon as Cas nods his approval, Dean is flipping them over in one swift motion so that he now has Cas on his back. He looks down into Cas’ eyes and asks, “Is this alright?” In response, Castiel grabs a handful of Dean’s bare ass and pulls him forward in a shallow thrust.

Hissing through his teeth, Dean starts at a slow, dragging pace, taking his time finding that sweet spot within Cas that will make him squirm and beg for more. It’s not long before he angles it so that nearly every stroke hits Cas’ prostate. Beneath him, Cas meets Dean’s thrusts and grinds his hips, not even bothering to stifle the obscene noises coming from his mouth. Taking advantage of the bare skin before him, Dean ducks his head and licks his way up Cas’ neck, feeling him writhe.

“Dean!” he shouts, curling his fingers into the soft flesh of Dean’s back. He’s hardly able to control himself when Dean wraps a free hand around his shaft, pumping to the rhythm of his thrusts. “Fuck! Oh, Dean, please.”

“Damn Cas...you talk s’fucking dirty when you’re all worked up.” Kissing him sloppily, Dean drags his lips across the younger boy’s stubbly jaw. He threads their fingers together with his free hand, murmuring into the crook of Cas’ neck. “I’m not gonna last, Cas. M’gonna come any fucking second…”

“Harder, Dean, please. This isn’t my first time or anything…”

Dean complies, pulling all the way out before pushing back in roughly, forcing Cas’ breath out of him. He continues with the brutal pace, their hands still entwined, until Cas comes with a relieved groan. He blacks out for what feels like minutes - his mind suspended in time and space, creating its own constellations - returning just in time to feel Dean come inside him. Dean collapses against his body, and Castiel pets his sweat-drenched neck lovingly. “I liked that very much,” he whispers after a few minutes have passed.

Dean lifts his head and grins. “Yeah, I’d hope so.” Slowly, Dean rolls off of Cas, cleaning them up as he goes. They lie down beside one another, completely sated. Dean blushes and averts his eyes. “So, I did good?”

Throwing his head back in a laugh, Castiel nods happily. “It was amazing.” After a moment passes, he blurts out, “I wish you’d been my first…”

Dean surveys him curiously, brushing his thumb down the curve of his nose and smiling sadly. “Me too, Cas.”

“I was only fourteen the first time.” The words are escaping before he even has the chance to register what he is saying, but he knows that this was coming eventually. At some point, he was going to talk about it with someone. “Who even does that? To a fourteen-year-old?”

Sitting up, Dean looks at him sternly. “Sick people do. He was really fucked up, Cas.”

“I remember lying there after he was finished and wishing that I could fly away, but feeling like he’d just ripped off my wings.”

Nuzzling into Castiel’s neck, Dean kisses his collarbone tenderly. “Let me be your wings.”

Castiel smiles, feeling all his sadness wash away. “Only if you ask nicely.”

*****

Dean makes his way through the halls with his head high and a smile on his face. Things are finally looking up. His grades are all in the high B area and he's made it onto the varsity baseball team as pitcher this year. He and Cas are doing fucking great, like really good. His dad has definitely laid off of him since the incident. There's a lot of things to be smiling about.  
  
He dresses for practice and heads out to the field. It looks like a spring shower is about to burst at any second, but practice goes on without a hitch. Then Gordon shows up, late.  
  
"Gordon!" Coach shouts at the teen. "Where've you been, boy?"  
  
"Places," he shouts back. "S'not like you need me all that much, I mean, you got your star pitcher right there!" Gordon points to Dean with his free hand. "I'm just an infielder."  
  
"Gordon, you're just as important to this team as anybody else," the coach answers in a steady tone. "And you're one of our best batters! Now quit pouting and get on the goddamn field!"  
  
The rest of the team watches silently as he throws his bags down and stalks out to his position. As he passes Dean, Gordon slams his shoulder against him and mutters, "Golden boy."  
  
Dean spins around and yells, "Hey! Don't get pissed at me. I didn't do shit."  
  
"You get everything, Winchester!" Gordon turns to point an angry finger at him, coming closer. "You've got the grades, you got the scholarships, you got the running back position that I wanted, and you got the fucking pitcher position that I wanted. Christ, you’ve already got a full ride with football alone, why can’t you let me have this one thing? What makes you so damn special?"  
  
Shrugging, Dean laughs. "I'm sorry you're always second best, Gordon, but that ain't my fault."  
  
"I just find it hard to believe that you're so damn perfect....There's gotta be something about you that isn't right.” Gordon steps back to study him. “Something's off about you, Winchester. And I'll find out what it is one day."  
  
Dean tenses up, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. He fakes a smile and retorts, "I'm an open book, Walker."  
  
"Whatever." He glances around, retreating to his spot. "Let's just play the damn game."  
  
Nervously, Dean watches Gordon walk away and turns back to whoever is up to bat. Cracking his neck, he winds up his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I want to give a HUGE thanks to my beta & fellow writer [VeraBAdler](http://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraBAdler/pseuds/VeraBAdler). Take a chance to go check her out! She is absolutely lovely and I couldn't do this without her. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a comment and kudos if you liked it. I'm always open to hear feedback. My tumblr: [casbelieves](http://casbelieves.tumblr.com/).


	16. Chapter 16

"Cas?" Dean enters the Singers’ rowdy kitchen, pushing past Anna and Jo to reach Castiel. The room smells like fresh bread and spaghetti sauce; Dean’s stomach growls of its own accord. Bobby raises his hand in a hello, but continues cooking as Dean moves to stand before the blue-eyed boy. "What are you doing?"

Shuffling through a stack of notecards, Castiel looks up from the papers before him, twirling a pen in his hand before bringing the end of it between his pink lips. "I am currently working on some AP Chemistry. What's going on?"

Nervously, Dean flicks his eyes around the room before glancing down at his feet. He really, really wishes he didn’t have to do this…

Clearing his throat, Dean answers through gritted teeth, "Can we talk?" He adds, "In private."

The room grows quiet at his words, and everyone takes a second to stop and look at the two boys. Startled, Castiel looks taken aback by Dean’s bluntness but nods in agreement. He stands and follows Dean's retreating form through the back door.

The sharp March air penetrates Castiel's skin through his thin shirt. He immediately wishes he had grabbed his sweatshirt off of the kitchen table before following Dean outside, but at the moment he hadn’t even thought of it. All he can think about now is the way Dean is restlessly shuffling from one foot to another, refusing to meet Castiel’s insistent gaze. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, Castiel inquires, “What is this about?”

"I committed to Kansas today," he reveals softly, letting the words fall from his mouth without expressing any emotion. "I'll start there in the fall."

"Okay." Castiel cannot muster the strength to say anything else, for fear that he might collapse in on himself. He’d known this was coming, but nothing could have prepared him for it. This moment had been undoubtedly coming and Castiel had purposefully chosen to ignore that fact. With a side glance, Dean sighs, "I thought you should be the first to know. Y’know, besides my family, n’all."

Nodding in acknowledgement of Dean’s words, Castiel exhales shakily. He really should say something, perhaps a congratulation of sorts, but all he really wants to do is beg Dean to stay. What a selfish thing to want to do.

Dean fidgets and blurts out, "Please say something."

"What about us?" Castiel's voice breaks and he struggles to choke back a rising sob. He wants to assure himself that this isn’t happening, this is just another nightmare, but he knows that there isn’t enough blood for it to be a dream.

"Hey, look at me." Grasping Castiel's face in his hand, Dean brings their faces close together so that Castiel feels Dean’s hot breath on his face when he speaks. "We are going to be fine. We'll write letters and call every day. It'll be fine, baby." The pet name starts a fresh ache in Castiel’s chest that feels like it will never go away. He breaks down into a sob, and Dean quickly hauls him into a bone-crushing hug.

Castiel clings to Dean's sweatshirt with empty hope, sniffling into his chest. "I love you."

The words coax a smile out of Dean. "I love you more." There's a pause, and then Dean speaks again. "Hey, listen, so Gordon has it out for me right now, I think you should keep your head down for the next couple of days. He knows that you're one of my soft spots."

Breathing in the smell of Dean and saving it into his archives, Castiel lets the silence answer for him.

*****

"School's good, then?" Bobby grumbles, slamming on the brakes and cursing at the driver in front of him. "Your grades are real good."

Castiel grins. "School is fine, Bobby."

Silence ensues as Bobby continues to drive and Castiel absentmindedly gazes out the window. The silence is comfortable, and neither of them really feel the need to pursue any unnecessary small talk. That’s what Castiel likes about Bobby the most: the fact that they are both so comfortable with silence.

Castiel likes Bobby a lot. Sure, he isn't always around when Castiel has his breakdowns or when he wants to talk about the latest book he's been reading, but he is an excellent adoptive parent. He trusts Bobby, and that says a lot all on its own.

"Thank you." He conjures the words without realizing it, but feels the meaning behind them regardless.

Bobby looks over at him for a second. His brow furrows in confusion. "Fer what?"

"For taking me in and adopting me." Castiel plays with the charm bracelet Dean gave him. "I know you and I are not very close, but I appreciate it all the same. You've been a better father to me than my biological one...or any other man for that matter."

A small smile creeps into Bobby's face. Castiel catches his eye and recognizes the look as adoration, and he knows then that Bobby cares for him.

"Alright, since we're opening up now, I figure I can ask ya' some personal questions." He shifts in his seat, making a right turn. "Ellen's been buggin' me to have the talk with ya' and I've been trying to avoid it."

"What talk?"

"You n' Deano being smart?" Bobby clears his throat, checking his mirrors. "You use protection?"

Castiel immediately feels all his blood rush up to his cheeks. He looks down at his hands sheepishly. "Yes, we're smart."

"Good, that's what I wanna hear," he mumbles, pulling into the parking lot of the hospital extension. Castiel unbuckles and reaches for the handle, but Bobby stops him. "You're a good kid, Cas. You can call me 'dad' if you want to from now on, alright?"

"Okay." He smiles back, stepping out of the car. "See you in forty-five minutes."

Bobby slowly peels out of the parking lot and Castiel enters the building. He checks in and heads to Sharon's office, entering without knocking.

Immediately, he shuts down. He always does. No matter what, he still feels there’s no use in opening up about what happened while he was in Alistair's house. No good will come of it. He will talk about his mother and his father and anything that happened before the house, but he refuses to talk about the years he spent there.

He won't do that to himself; he can't let himself relive it.

"Any breakdowns recently?" Sharon chimes in, breaking the silence and sitting down in her usual chair.

"Two," he answers.

Two is a safe number.

"When and why?" Taking a sip of her black coffee, she writes on her pad. "Any triggers?"

"Nightmares, as usual."

She nods. "Okay, tell me about them."

"I woke up feeling like there were hands all over me and that someone was choking me."

"Stay down, sweet boy." Alistair hums, tightening his grip on Castiel's neck. He tries to scream, but he can't.

"How did you deal with it?"

"I don't want to talk about this." Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Castiel splays his hand over his knee and digs his fingers into his skin. "Dean is leaving."

She perks up at the admission. "Where is he going?"

Digging further into his flesh, he responds weakly, "Kansas for college in the fall." She doesn't say anything, so he continues on his downward spiral. "He makes me feel whole, like...like nothing bad has ever happened to me, and now he is leaving and I'm going to be alone again."

"You can't depend on him to make you feel better forever, Castiel. Eventually, you'll have to look within yourself for that."

"I don't like myself," he mutters indignantly, forcing his gaze down. He knows that she is trying to help him, but in order to be helped, Castiel has to talk about all the things he hates.

Sharon shrugs, scribbling something down. "You don't like the things you've experienced, but it's how you let your experiences affect you that makes you who you are."

"No, you don’t understand...I can't keep going without him. He's like air - I need him to survive." Castiel is becoming frantic now, bringing his hands to his scalp and embedding his fingernails there.

Setting aside her things, Sharon climbs out of her chair and kneels down in front of Castiel. She grabs his hands and holds them down in his lap, whispering feverishly. "You cannot become so dependent on things or people to the point where it might kill you once they’re gone."

"I'm not dependent!" he shouts, tears coming to his eyes. "I don't need anyone or anything."

"That's where you are very wrong, Castiel." She pats his hand soothingly, attempting to calm him with a soft voice. "You have been deprived of the basic love every child should have, and so, as soon as you find something that makes you feel good, you become attached to it. Before Dean, you had drugs, and before drugs, you had self-harm."

Wiping the tears from his eyes, he exhales. "And soon, I'll only have two of the three."

*****

Gordon hates Dean freaking Winchester.

Dean is the golden boy with a golden tongue and golden fingers. As far as everyone else is concerned, Gordon is - and always will be - second best to Dean: good, but not quite good enough. Dean could kill someone and he’d still be praised by every single person in town.

Pushing past a group of freshmen, Gordon walks briskly to the locker room. He glowers and twirls his bat in his hand.

Gordon really hates Dean freaking Winchester. Dean can do no wrong, at least not in the eyes of his peers or his teachers. If anything, he’s too good, too perfect. Everyone can feel something off-beat about him, but no one can pin down what it is exactly. Other than that single annoying thought in the back of everyone’s minds, Dean is perfectly perfect.

So it was a shock to everyone when Dean started slipping up senior year. It was little things at first, but then he’d forget to do something like a thirty- or forty-point assignment. Those bigger things caught some attention. Specifically, Gordon’s attention, because finally! Something is finally wrong with him! Yet, he manages to save himself every freaking time - that goddamn charming bastard. So, once again, Dean’s possible imperfections go unnoticed and forgotten, and Gordon continues to be second best.

Then Castiel showed up, and Dean started to act like he genuinely cared about the loser. That pissed Gordon off, because kids like Dean don't hang out with kids like Castiel. He started letting the kid tag along to practice and to parties. It was weird, but no one openly questioned it;  everyone turned their heads and let it slide. Except Gordon. He saw something off about the newfound friendship that no one else seemed to pick up. They’re a little too close. Gordon has never seen Dean act the way he does ‘round the little dark-haired freak. They’re too close for comfort. It’s like they’re hiding something together.

Gordon slips into the locker room quietly, throwing his bag down onto the bench. He hums to himself and starts to strip down to his underwear. Faintly, he hears someone entering the room and walking towards him. Pulling his uniform from his bag and yanking the shorts on, Gordon turns and meets Dean’s wary gaze at the end of the locker row.

“You still pissed at me?” he asks.

Gordon shrugs, feeling anger boil in his blood. “S’not like it matters.” He goes back to dressing, ignoring Dean when he sits down beside Gordon’s open bag. “You’re invincible, Winchester.” He lets the words roll off his tongue in slow rage, straightening his back and tipping his chin up defiantly. Looking at Dean from the corner of his eye, Gordon huffs a laugh. “You’re not as perfect as you seem, though, are you, Dean-o?” He opens his locker and yanks out his shoes. Dean tenses and Gordon’s lips curls into a cruel smile. “We both know somethin’ ain’t right ‘bout you.”

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” Running a hand over his face, Dean shakes his head and releases a shaky sigh. His voice trembles slightly, but he continues. “I’m just like everyone else.”

Slamming the metal door of his locker shut, forcing Dean to jump at the sharp sound, Gordon spins around and laughs bitterly. “Now that…” he looks Dean over once and continues after a beat. “That I don’t believe for a second. You’re not fooling me, Dean.”

Gordon’s eyes track the way Dean clenches his jaw and tightens his hands into fists, breathing deeply through flaring nostrils. “If you’re such a goddamn know-it-all, then tell me what’s wrong with me, huh?”

Walking past Dean and towards the doors, Gordon shouts, “I don’t know yet, but I’m gonna figure it out.”

*****

The beach is beautiful in the spring. There are small delicate flowers growing on vines that snake through the sand. Castiel picks a petal off of the nearest one and places it on the end of Dean’s nose. He giggles at the Dean’s confusion.

“Cas…” he mumbles, careful not to blow the petal off. “Why is there a petal on my face?”

“Shut up.” Castiel blows it away and watches it fall. “It softens your features.”

“You’re spending way too much time with Jessica.” Dean whistles, giving him an amused smirk. “Quick, tell me, what’s my horoscope?”

Castiel shoves him with his shoulder and huffs a laugh. “I hate you.”

“Liar.”

Mocking seriousness, Castiel straightens up. “No, I really do.” He glances over at Dean and continues, “I can’t stand you.”

“S’that right?” Dean smiles dangerously. He leans into Castiel’s space, pushing him down onto the sand and looming over him. Castiel barely covers the small groan that escapes the back of his throat when Dean eases a leg between his thighs, pressing against his crotch.

Hissing through his teeth and controlling his instinct to grind against Dean’s leg, Castiel pushes him away slightly. “Dean,” Castiel warns. “People can see us.”

Pressing closer, Dean dips his head and latches his lips onto the nearest collar bone peeking over the collar of Castiel's shirt. Finally, Dean retorts, “It’s Monday. Nobody comes here on Mondays.” He grazes his teeth across the fresh bruises he’s created and grinds down onto Castiel, murmuring, “And it feels like it’s been weeks since I’ve gotten to touch you.”

Castiel pauses slightly, but weakly returns his attention to the feeling of Dean’s rough hands slipping beneath his sweater. Quietly, he rasps, “It has been weeks.” Dean continues his movement, dragging his nails down Castiel’s ribcage. Suppressing a moan, Castiel bites his lower lip. “We haven’t done anything since that one weekend.”

Above him, Dean stills and pulls away slowly. “What?”

“It’s no big deal, Dean. We’ve been busy.” He pulls him back down for another bruising kiss. Dean is still hesitant, so Castiel murmurs,“We only have a few months left, so kiss me.”

Sitting back on his haunches, Dean looks down at Castiel and sighs, "Don't you think I know that?" Sitting up, Dean’s face gradually lights up into a blinding grin. He shuffles to his feet and yanks on Castiel’s arm, urging him up. “C’mon let’s go out tonight.”

“Where?” Castiel struggles to stand with Dean pulling on him, but he manages not to fall despite the sand shifting below his feet. He clambers to keep up with Dean, who is walking a few yards ahead of him back to the car. “Dean! If we are going out, I need to tell Ellen.”

Dean waves a dismissive hand at that and continues trudging towards the car. Castiel can see its black shiny exterior gleaming in the April sun as he nears it. “She doesn’t care, Cas. S’long as you’re with me, she won’t worry. C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

Twenty minutes later they’re at a pizza parlor in Daly City. It’s a popular place and they have a brief wait before they are seated, but Castiel passes the time by watching Dean gaze at the crowd with absent interest. It’s not long before they are sitting in a small booth at the back of the crowded restaurant. The jukebox is turning out the Beatles in earnest and Castiel taps his foot absently to the beat as he flips through the menu.

“Whaddaya want?” Dean chimes, taking off his worn leather jacket and draping it across his seat. “Let’s just get a large pizza and then we can take the leftovers with us.” Castiel nods, and Dean continues, “What toppings d’you want?”

Trying his best not to smile, Castiel replies without looking up from his menu, “Anchovies and onions.”

Dean splutters instantly, “That’s fucking disgusting. No way! Y-you can’t want that, Cas! C’mon man, that’s freaking nasty.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow questioningly. Looking over his menu at Dean, he smiles. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s my favorite.”

Laughing and crossing his arms over his chest, Dean’s grin widens as he leans back against the booth. “No it’s not. The Hawaiian pizza is your favorite, I would know.”

Blatantly attempting to cover his smile, Castiel tries his best to seem genuinely offended. “I’m pretty sure that I would know what my favorite kind of pizza is.”

Dean smirks at him when the waitress appears. She flips open her notepad and asks, "What can I get for you?"

Without hesitation, Dean speaks up, "One large anch-"

Castiel is quick to cut him off, kicking him under the table with a sharp smile. "One large Hawaiian, please. And a pitcher of Coke."

She nods and scribbles down the order, grinning profusely at them with a smile that can only mean: Help! I hate working here! Taking their menus in hand, she promises to be back with their drinks in a moment and leaves them alone once more.

"I thought you wanted anchovies?" Dean quips, nudging Castiel's knee with his own. "Isn't it your favorite?"

Attempting a fake scowl, Castiel drawls, "I changed my mind. People have the right to change their minds, Dean."

Laughing under his breath, Dean gazes at him fondly and says, "Don't ever change, Cas."

The words take Castiel by surprise and before he can control himself, he's blushing like an idiot. Dean's smile grows wider as Castiel's cheeks become a deeper shade of pink. He giggles and covers his face with his hands to keep himself from losing it. Before he can get himself under control, he's laughing hysterically.

Dean nudges his elbow with his hand, struggling to control his own laughter but still managing to tease him. "What's wrong, Cas? Can't take a compliment for once in your life?"

These small moments with Dean are what he lives for, but always fears he might somehow forget. It's the little moments that he wants to cherish that are always the hardest to save into his brain, but here he is, fumbling to safely store it away as he thinks of a response. When the laughter dies down, Castiel feels fresh and new, like all he knows is the hundreds of freckles across Dean's nose and cheeks, and the smell of the beach after it rains.

"I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too." Dean sighs through his nose and looks up just in time to see Gordon striding over with that stupid cocky grin twisted across his face.  Slapping his hands down onto their table, Gordon chuckles, "Hey lovebirds. Well, look what we have here… Is it date night?" Gordon's friends who’d followed him to their table join in a chorus of laughter. Dean clenches his jaw and glances at Cas nervously, not knowing what to say or do but praying that Gordon will leave just as quickly as he came.

"Castiel," Gordon croons, looking down at him with false sincerity. He lowers his voice and asks, "Sucked any good dick lately?" Instantly, Castiel looks away, ashamed.

Dean plants his hands on the table and pushes himself out of the booth, coming face to face with Gordon. He's a little taller than the other boy, but Gordon is much bigger. "C'mon Gordon, leave m'alone," he growls, tightening his fists at his sides. "Don't attack him. He's not the one you're after."

Pointing a finger at Dean's chest, Gordon licks his lips darkly. "You're right. You're the one I'm after, Dean-o." He brings the pointed finger to his face and strokes his chin in contemplation before continuing. "Does your old man know you're hanging around with a faggot?"

Breathing deeply through his nose, Dean shoves Gordon's shoulder and snaps, "Why don't you mind your own business?"

Crowding into Dean's space with hate in his eyes, Gordon snarls, "The thing is, Winchester, I've made you my business."

The waitress appears around the corner. She tosses the pizza and pitcher of soda onto the table and rushes to separate the two boys. "Hey! Take it outside, alright?"

"No problem, we were just going anyways." Gordon hums and flashes her a polite smile. "Sorry to cause any trouble."

Dean watches Gordon retreat to the other side of the restaurant hesitantly, fearful that he might come back if he looks away. Turning his attention to the waitress, Dean apologizes, "Sorry. Thank you for the food."

*****

Thankfully, Dean doesn’t let their encounter with Gordon ruin their evening, although it does set him on edge for the remainder of their dinner. Castiel is surprised when Dean drives them to the roller skating rink just outside of town, but doesn't argue as they park the car and walk inside. The place is packed with people and Dean maneuvers gracefully through the crowd to the front desk.

"What size shoe are you?" Dean asks him, fumbling with his wallet. "Are you my size?"

Castiel nods and Dean tells the counter clerk. Looking over his shoulder at everyone skating, Castiel becomes very nervous. Tapping Dean on the shoulder, he murmurs, "I've never done this before. I don't think I'll be very good..."

Raising his eyebrows and shrugging, Dean answers, "Well, you'll never know if you never try, right?"

"Alright, wise guy," Castiel scoffs, taking the skates in hand and striding off to the nearest open table. Dean follows closely and takes the seat beside him without a word. As soon as the skates are laced, Castiel dreads the moment he has to stand up. He cannot do this. He won't last two minutes walking around on these things."I'm going to fall flat on my ass."

Shaking his head, Dean grabs Castiel's arm and yanks him to his feet. Castiel instantly loses his balance as his body jerks from side to side in order to level out his moving feet. "Knock it off. This is supposed to be fun."

Dean half glides, half stomps to the rink's gates. Castiel mimics Dean's movements and makes it onto the smooth floor of the rink.

"Okay, so hold onto the wall and try skating slowly. Just get a feel for it," Dean coaxes, placing his hand on Castiel's shoulder. The small gesture urges him on; he clings to the wall as he slowly rolls along. After a few minutes, he pushes off of the wall and skates slowly alongside Dean.

"You're doing good!" Dean encourages him, holding him by the elbow when he loses balance. "It's like you're a natural."

Castiel rolls his eyes at the mocking tone and grumbles, "You're being an assbutt."

Frowning in confusion, Dean laughs. "A what?"

"An assbutt!" Castiel clarifies indignantly, stumbling slightly and reaching for the nearest thing to steady himself on, which happens to be the front of Dean's shirt. With so little space between them, Dean whispers, "I've never heard that one before..."

"I'm full of surprises," he replies quickly, smoothing out the front of Dean's shirt and standing up straight.

Teasingly, Dean winks and gives his hip a small squeeze. "Don't I know it."

In an attempt to playfully shove Dean, Castiel manages to push him hard enough for him to lose his balance. Immediately, Dean clings to Castiel for stability - a very stupid mistake - and stumbles backwards, bringing them both down to the floor in a twisted heap. Something electric sparks through Castiel as he throws his head back with laughter. Dean laughs too, patting Castiel’s knee lovingly and preparing to stand up. Once he’s stable again, Dean extends his hand and Castiel takes it, hoisting himself up.

An hour later, as they walk back to the car, Castiel hauls Dean into a darkened alley and pushes him against the nearest wall. Desperately, Castiel plunges forward and brings their mouths together, caressing Dean’s bottom lip with his tongue. Dean responds quickly by sliding a hand to the back of Castiel’s neck, dragging him closer to deepen the kiss. Dean groans helplessly, craving the feeling of Castiel’s hands and tongue on his body.

“Christ,” Dean murmurs, shifting his hips to brush against Castiel.

Laughing quietly, Castiel answers. “Not quite, but if you really believe - “

“Just shut up and kiss me,” Dean groans, yanking Castiel close and silencing him with a kiss.

Nearby, there are people having dinner with their families and children playing tag, while Castiel and Dean grapple to hold on to the one piece of their shared reality that actually makes sense. Their lips bring medicine to one another like no antidepressant could, but the world is determined to see that they do not get what they need regardless of how necessary a kiss is for their survival. So, as the street lights change and a car is towed, Castiel presses Dean into the side of the skating rink, hoping that his reality might become as solid as the cold bricks against Dean's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my faithful readers! Yet another chapter for you. The next one I've already finished and it's straight smut, but then we will get right back to plot. There's a lot that will be happening in the future chapters, so stick around! Follow me on tumblr: [casbelieves](http://casbelieves.tumblr.com/). My twitter: [teenvonnegut](https://twitter.com/teenvonnegut).


	17. Chapter 17

Castiel skids to halt in front of the bookstore and chains his bike to the rack with clean, methodical motions. Wiping his clammy hands on his pants, he spins around and unlocks the store, setting his backpack behind the counter. The store is quiet, except for the sound of the two cats running for the door at the chime of the bell tied to the handle. The fluffy black cat - Vader - slinks its way into the room, while the slim grey kitten - Skywalker - bolts to Castiel and claws at the hem of his pants. Snagging the kitten in his arms, he cradles the little fur-ball and plops him down on top of the counter. Skywalker rolls around on the desk, mewling sweetly as Castiel opens the register and turns on the lights, humming to himself.

He plays with the kitten for a moment, smiling to himself at its playfulness. Coming back around to the front of the counter, Castiel walks down the third row of books to the back room. Once the cats' food and water bowls are filled, he returns to the front of the store.

The afternoon light filters through the massive front window, creating a warm glow that settles Castiel's perpetually anxious heart. He breathes in the smell of ocean spray, dust, and books, knowing that the only thing better than this is the way Dean smells.

The little shop is located downtown, near the theater, which brings in a lot of business. Today is Saturday, the day of Pacifica's beautiful Farmer's Market. It was with reluctance that Castiel agreed to work the Market shift, but he knew Missouri needed the help and he had no excuses. So now he finds himself scratching behind Skywalker's ears as he sorts through the new shipment by his feet. Missouri is going to be excited to see that they can put the new books out so that the Market rush crowd will see them.

Speak of the devil, Castiel thinks as the queen herself saunters into the store like she owns the place, which she does.

"Good morning my little blue-eyed angel," Missouri hums, slapping the counter as she walks by. She's always so kind to him. It never fails to take him by surprise. "How're you doing this fine morning?"

Castiel greets her with a smile and takes his seat on the tall stool behind the counter. "Great, thank you for asking."

Continuing their conversation from the back of the store, Missouri yells, "They said they got a nice band playin' tonight, so m'thinking we're gonna have ourselves some business." Her voice nears him again, the southern drawl of it singing in his ears. "Y'know them young new-age vegan families always love to support a local bookstore and a - damn what's the word - oh! 'underground' band playing is just what they looking for."

Castiel can't keep himself from laughing, his cheeks turning red when she comes back into view. She raises a quizzical brow at him, a small frown on her face. "Are you laughing at me, boy?"

"No - um - I just was..."

Waving her hand in dismissal, she turns and continues her speech. "Go on and flip the sign, we ain't got all damn day."

With a soft sigh that earns him a sharp side glance, Castiel flips the sign. He knows that no one is going to come in for another hour or so, but he turns on the stereo anyways. Drumming his fingers on the table, he picks up his backpack and pulls out his book.

They're reading The Catcher in the Rye in his AP English class and he is supposed to finish half the book by Monday. Castiel flips open the book, choosing to read more even though he's almost near the end of the novel and he already read it at the beginning of the year for fun. It's by far one of his favorite books of all time. He understands Holden in the sense that he, too, is searching for innocence in a world that destroys it.

Settling in his chair, Castiel is grateful that Missouri invested in some new stools that actually have backs to them. The first forty-five minutes of work move by quickly without any interruptions to his reading. The sound of the phone to his right startles him and he immediately sets aside his book to answer it.

"Hello. This is Books by the Bay, how may I help you?" Castiel presses the phone between his shoulder and ear so that he can get a pen and paper.

There's rustling on the other end before an answer. "Hey there good-lookin!"

Castiel rolls his eyes at the greeting. "Dean, I'm at work."

"Oh, please," Dean replies. "We both know that you guys won't get customers for another 30 minutes."

Huffing deeply through his nose, Castiel drops the pen and pencil. "Okay, what is it then?"

"I want to suck your cock."

"Dean!" Castiel hisses into the phone and glances around the room nervously, a blush rising in his cheeks. Choosing his words carefully, Castiel warns, "I'm at work."

"And I'm home alone, laying in bed." Castiel grits his teeth at how smug Dean sounds right now. He continues when Castiel doesn't say anything. "Wanna know what I woke up thinking about?"

Castiel should really hang up, he knows that he should but he just can't bring himself to do it. Calmly, he asks, "What?"

Dragging out his words, Dean's voice comes out breathy over the phone. "I woke up thinking about the taste of you..."

"God.." Glancing over at the door, Castiel notices someone crossing the street towards the store. "How long will your family be gone?"

"'Till tomorrow afternoon."

Thanking the stars, Castiel bites his lower lip and says, "I'll be there at 7:30, okay?" Before Dean can answer, Castiel slams the phone back down onto the receiver.

Just as he's sitting up straight, Missouri rounds the corner. "Tell your boyfriend to stop making nasty phone calls while you're workin'."

"S-sorry." Blushing a bright red, Castiel looks down at his lap. He sometimes forgets that Missouri is psychic, but she never fails to remind him.

In all honesty, Castiel really likes Missouri. She's funny and kind, but doesn't let any of her workers get away with anything stupid. He likes to tell her about the latest books he's read, and she shares all her new reads with him. Looking at the clock, he asks, "Do you have any clients today?"

She nods, picking up Vader as she nears the counter. "Two. Just send 'em up when they get here."

The rest of the day goes by slowly, but Castiel passes the time reading and organizing the new shipment of books. He answers a few calls and rings up a handful of purchases before the Market starts.

As soon as 5:00 hits, the street is filled with people. Castiel gets annoyed with the opening and closing of the front door, so he props it open instead of listening to the bell ring over and over again. A few kids from school come into the store; they recognize him and say hello out of obligation, but none of them strike up any sort of conversation. He's used to that, though. Most of his fellow classmates tend to find him rather intense and quiet.

At one point a large group of high schoolers comes in. Most of them are girls, dragging their dates into the store without a choice. Among the crowd is Gordon, who immediately zones in on Castiel and makes his way to the counter to annoy him.

Admiring the room with false sincerity, Gordon prompts, "I didn't know you worked here, sunshine."

Raising his eyebrows in false confusion, Castiel quips, "Yeah, I do. What're you doing in here, Gordon? I didn't know you could read."

Castiel can't help but smile when Gordon's jaw tightens in the beginnings of rage. Throughout the year, Castiel has discovered that no matter what tactic he uses, Gordon won't leave him alone unless someone else makes him. He's done it all in attempts to make the bullying stop, but Gordon just won't let up.

"You think you're so damn clever, don't you?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Castiel says, "Maybe." Turning away from Gordon, he pretends to busy himself with pricing books. He feels tense, like Gordon might reach across the counter and punch him right in the face. It's unsettling, really, the way Gordon has taken such a keen interest in making Castiel's life miserable - as if he hasn't already been through enough.

Eventually - to Castiel's relief - Gordon and his friends leave and Castiel feels like he can breathe again.

The April air filters into the shop through the open front door and with it comes the live music. It's a nice evening and the store stays busy until closing. Finally, at 7:00, Castiel flips the sign to 'Closed' and finishes ringing up the last two customers before shutting up shop.

Missouri lets him go, promising to lock up before she leaves, and Castiel thanks her hurriedly. He goes directly to his bike to unlock it, speeding off as soon as it is free.

There's a nice ocean breeze as he rides home through town. Although it has taken some time to adjust, Castiel really does adore Pacifica and all of its small-town charms. He loves the beach and the local stores and the tourist traps and the restaurants. Everything about the town is quaint and charming, without the expense of the city.

There's no anonymity in the small town. In the city, Castiel sometimes felt a little lost amongst the hustle and bustle of the human population. But here, he can look at each home and know that a family lives there or an old woman who grows oranges and cherries in her backyard lives there.

Castiel is well aware of the wealth in the community, but what's so refreshing is that these people don't flaunt it. Ellen and Bobby are well known in town for their work with kids, and Mary organizes monthly benefits where the money is donated to a random organization. These people actually care, and that's why Castiel finds it so endearing to live here.

In the city, people don't care. They go through life thoughtlessly, waiting for it to end and never noticing the people around them. He remembers the nights when he snuck out - when he had no bed or food but, hey, at least it was away from Alistair.

Those days came before the kid - Andy - before he had someone to look out for. They all looked out for one another, but there was something about Andy that Castiel wanted to preserve, so he went one step further to protect the kid. Perhaps it was his innocence, the belief that life was never too hard for too long. Maybe Andy was right.

When he pulls up to his house, he drags his bike into the backyard before stopping inside to grab a change of clothes.

"Where are you goin' tonight?" Ellen teases him, pointedly glancing at the clothes in his hand

Smiling at her cheekily, he answers, "To Dean's."

"Is that so?" she hums, chopping up some celery. "His parents aren't home."

"I'm well aware."

Scooping the celery into a bowl, Ellen raises her eyebrows curiously. "And Sam - he isn't there either."

Nodding, he reassures her with a laugh. "I'm not going to see Sam, Ellen."

Attempting to hide her own grin, she nods. "Okay. Have fun. Be safe."

Kissing her on the cheek as he heads for the door, he calls out, "No promises!"

He's at the Winchesters’ back door in minutes, entering without a word. Maneuvering through the house, Castiel heads upstairs to Dean's room. Swinging open the door, Castiel calls, "Honey! I'm home!"

There isn't even a second for Castiel to catch his breath before Dean is on him, pressing him to the nearest wall and covering Castiel's mouth with his own. Dropping his extra clothes to the floor, Castiel reaches up and cradles Dean's head in his hands as the older boy licks his way into Cas' mouth.

Dean's lips are slow and insistent, pressing against Castiel eagerly but with patience. Clutching at Dean's shoulders, Castiel whimpers into his boyfriend's mouth when he pulls Castiel's lower lip between his teeth. His hands are tethered to Dean's skin, dragging him closer.

Breathing hot air across Castiel's lips, Dean murmurs, "You're all sweaty."

Grabbing a handful of Dean's ass, Castiel smiles cockily. "I rode my bike."

"Bathroom," Dean mumbles, dragging him down the hall. His hands are insistently tugging at Castiel's shirt, pulling it over his head with little ease. Castiel feels as though his entire body is vibrating, like he can point out each fraction of a second and know exactly where Dean's hands and mouth were at that exact minuscule moment.

Dean's lips move to cover Castiel's exposed chest, leaving him gasping for air. Fumbling with Dean's shirt, he manages to yank it off once Dean lifts his head from the younger boy's skin.

"You can't keep calling me at - at work."

Lifting Castiel up onto the bathroom counter and slotting his body between Cas' legs, Dean suckles at the younger boy's collarbone, pressing his erection against Castiel's inner thigh. "It's fun gettin' you all worked up." He runs his hands up Castiel's thighs and squeezes, sucking another hickey onto his chest. "S'kinda hot knowing I can get you all excited in public..."

Hissing through his teeth as Dean pinches a nipple between his fingers, Castiel grits out, "Missouri said you have to st-stop doing it though."

"D'you want me to stop doin' it?"

Shaking his head hastily, Castiel rasps, "No..."

With a smug grin and a wink, Dean slots their hips together and grinds. "That's what I thought."

Sliding his hands down the planes of Dean's chest, he pops the button and undoes the zip on Dean's jeans while the older boy continues marking up his chest. Eventually Dean pulls away to yank off his boxers and jeans, tossing them aside and sauntering over to the shower to turn it on. Castiel gazes at Dean's naked form, indulging in the beauty of it.

It feels as though time has slowed while Castiel drinks in the sight of Dean, who walks back to him without a word. Dean's hands flutter down Castiel's stomach and graze the outline of his erection through his jeans. Soon, Castiel's boxers and jeans are in a heap at his feet.

Stepping into the shower, Dean summons Castiel to him with his hand. The spray of the warm water relaxes all of Castiel's tensed muscles. He melts against the feel of Dean's hands - lathered in soap - digging into his back and sides and arms. Under the steam, Castiel gasps when Dean slots their slicked bodies together, just barely grinding his hips into him.

_"Clean up time..." Alistair croons in his ear._

Holding back a shudder, Castiel fights the tears pricking to the surface. Things feel really slow all of a sudden - the world is hazy, but in the distance he hears speaking in a hushed whisper. It takes a minute for Castiel to realize that it's him, praying.

"D-Dean..." Castiel stutters, his voice low and gravelly. He's realizes that he's shaking slightly and jerks away from Dean a little bit. "We need to be aware of how much water we are using... You know, with water conservation and everything."

"Yeah - yeah, totally," Dean mumbles absently, taking a step back. He fumbles as he turns off the water and steps out of the shower to grab some towels. He's watching Castiel carefully, like he knows something's up but he has no idea what it could be. He hands Castiel a towel while he wraps his own around his waist and exits the bathroom. Castiel dries himself off before following Dean to his room.

He walks the dark hallway, his eyes following his shadow against the wall as he moves. When he enters Dean's room, the fan is going and the window is open, letting the warm spring night air move through the dimly-lit space.

Dean's wearing a pair of dark green boxers that stick to his still-wet thighs. Swallowing thickly, Castiel moves along the wall and watches Dean sift through his records.

"What d'you wanna listen to t'night?" Looking over his shoulder, he waves at the records. Castiel shrugs and stoops to look through his stuff on the floor for boxers.

Sighing with inconvenience, Castiel asks, "Do you have a pair of underwear I can borrow tonight? It seems that I may have left mine at home."

"Yeah, whatever. Help yourself."

As Castiel searches through Dean's dresser, Dean puts a record on. A slow crooning song plays moments later, sending a chill down Castiel's spine. Pulling on a pair of cotton briefs, Castiel asks, "What's this?"

"Music," Dean huffs into Castiel’s ear, sliding his hand down Castiel's side and kissing his shoulder.

"No...what's this record?"

Castiel can feel Dean's smile on his neck as the slightly taller boy nuzzles there. His voice vibrates across Castiel's flesh. "It's Frank Sinatra." It's then that Castiel realizes that Dean has started to move their bodies in a slow dance. With a smile, Dean turns Castiel to face him. "Y'know you can dance with me, Cas." His breath is soft against Castiel's ear, one hand clasping around Castiel's and the other settling on his waist. Dean's voice is thick and dark, singing lowly in his ear. "Fly me to the moon. Let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on a - Jupiter and Mars." The entire situation is making Castiel a little breathy. Dean is leading their bodies around the room, his voice still singing along in Castiel's ear.

They smile and laugh, their bodies intertwined in an entirely new way. Castiel would melt into Dean in a million different ways if he had the time to try.

By the third song, they are both breathing a little faster than before, sweat shining across their brows. They slow to a stop in the middle of the room, their chests brushing with every breath.

"That was awesome." Dean's face breaks into a wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Within him, Castiel feels his heart ache at the sight. Kissing him deeply, Dean whispers, "I didn't know you could dance."

"I didn't know you could sing." Poking at his ribs, Castiel teases, "Or that you like Frank Sinatra."

"It's a guilty pleasure of mine..." Smiling, Dean pulls away with a content sigh. He sits at the end of the bed, pulling Castiel to settle between his spread legs. Resting his head on Dean's forehead and closing his eyes, Castiel shifts his hips against Dean's. He pays close attention to Dean's sharp intake of breath when he does it again a little more purposefully.

"Kiss me," Dean croons along to the sound of the music, pulling Castiel down for a bruising kiss. Dean's tongue teases along his lower lip until he opens his mouth with a gasp, climbing into Dean's lap and grinding down relentlessly. He straddles Dean's thighs, groaning when Dean grabs a handful of his ass through thin boxer material. Pressing Dean into the old mattress, he hears the springs beneath them creak slightly. The music continues to fill the room, making the air heavy as its sounds mix in with their ragged breathing.

Changing their positions so that he can easily slide down the length of Dean’s body, his hips wiggled between Dean’s inner thighs, Castiel latches his lips onto Dean's pulse eagerly. He drags his neatly-trimmed nails down Dean’s chest and shudders at the older boy’s keening hiss, stopping to grip at his hips. Castiel lowers his head to the harsh outline of Dean’s dick straining against the thin cotton boxers. Slowly, he presses his tongue against it, wetting the fabric. He watches Dean squirm through hooded lashes.

With a low rumble, Castiel smirks. “What do you want, Dean?” Removing his mouth and replacing it with his hand, he squeezes Dean’s thick cock.

“I-I want - “ Dean rasps, sucking in shallow breaths and groaning when Castiel sucks wetly at the jutted edge of his exposed hipbone. “Cas- Need it. Now.”

Kissing the fresh bruise on Dean’s skin, he smiles devilishly at him. “What was that?”

“You,” he gasps as Castiel gradually pulls Dean’s underwear down, revealing his hard cock leaking with precome. "Need you." Tossing the unnecessary garment aside, Castiel takes Dean’s cock in his hand and strokes once with a tight fist.

The way Dean completely relaxes underneath Castiel’s touch never ceases to amaze him. The teen practically melts into the mattress with a soft sigh and moan. Castiel wonders how many times they’ve done this - how many times they’ve just completely faded into one another so that they become a single being that moves and breathes and thinks together. Right now, Dean is calling out his name softly like he’s afraid someone else might hear it, but they both know that no one’s home - the only people who can hear them are in this very room. It’s just a breathy little moan that leaves Castiel as warm inside as if he’d just laid in the sun for an hour. Before Castiel can register what Dean’s doing, he’s on his back with Dean sinking down to fit his swollen red lips around the head of the younger boy’s cock.

“Lube. Now.” Castiel chokes on the words, but manages to reach up to the bedside table and yank it open to get the little bottle he knows is there. Sitting up, Castiel flips Dean over onto his back. They kiss as Castiel shoves a pillow beneath Dean’s lifted hips and presses a finger to his entrance to find that it is already slick and stretched. Castiel groans with disbelief against Dean’s lips, “Did you prep yourself?”

Capturing Castiel’s bottom lip between his teeth, Dean smiles. “Yeah…” His eyes are dark and lust-blown and his cheeks are rosy with a blush. “Wanted to surprise you.”

“Holy fuck.” Releasing a shaky breath, Castiel kisses him firmly and sinks a finger into him just to hear his moan. After a minute of Castiel easing his finger in and out of Dean, the older boy rolls a condom onto Castiel’s aching erection and applies a generous amount of lube.

Pressing the head of his cock to Dean’s entrance, Castiel eases into him until he bottoms out. They fit perfectly together - as if their bodies were two puzzle pieces. Impatiently, Dean digs his heels into Castiel’s lower back and mutters, “C’mon. Move.”

He starts off slow - grinding his hips and watching Dean’s naked form arch to each shallow thrust. Eventually, though, his strokes grow longer and harder, pulling out so that he can shove back into Dean. Castiel smiles in triumph when Dean calls out, “Oh, fuck!”

Lifting his hips to match Castiel, Dean starts to babble mindlessly. He winds his hand around his cock and starts stroking to the harsh rhythm. “Shit - Cas, there, right there. Fuck, iloveyousomuch….harder, Cas. Need you. Never, ever gonna stop loving you. You’re so goddamn beautiful; do y’know that?”

Castiel shudders with every word, nibbling at Dean’s jaw and feeling the beginnings of his own orgasm. Beneath him, Dean speaks in hushed, urgent whispers against Castiel’s ear, “M’gonna miss the way you feel inside me. Gonna miss that pretty little cock of yours, baby.” Without warning, Dean comes with a shout. “Fuck, Cas!” The sensation of Dean clenching around him sends Castiel over the edge, his own orgasm washing through him like a massive wave.

He collapses on top of Dean, nuzzling into the sweaty crook of his neck. The record has ended, leaving only the turntable’s low, rumbling, empty sound. The house is quiet except for the occasional car passing down the street. Weakly, Castiel manages to roll off of Dean and onto his side.

“We need a shower,” Dean says with a wicked grin.

Laughing, Castiel answers with a noncommittal hum. Dean leads him into the bathroom and they both wash off, only to return to Dean’s room. They crawl into bed and tangle their naked limbs together, kissing lazily. The sounds of a spring storm bring them to a quiet slumber, wrapped around each other tightly. The last conscious thought in Castiel’s mind is that he has never felt as loved as he does when he is wrapped in Dean’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Thank you so much for all of your sweet and lovely comments. It never fails to brighten my day. :) Please make sure to subscribe/kudos if you haven't already! Thank you so much. Enjoy this little break from all the plot!!!
> 
> \- Jos


	18. Chapter 18

“No, Dean, listen to me,” Sam insists, flipping through the papers in his lap while Dean brakes for a stoplight. The kid’s been adamant about Dean actually going to school for the education, not for the football gig he got. For some goddamn reason, the beanstalk can’t understand that Dean isn’t meant to go to college to actually learn anything, he’s there to play and keep the Winchester name alive at KU. “You’re smart, Dean. I don’t understand, really, why can’t you get that through your thick skull?”

Clenching his teeth, Dean breathes heavily through his nose. “Sammy, drop it, c’mon.”

“No! I will not drop it!”

“Why d’you gotta be such a goddamn pain in my ass?” Dean half-shouts, his neck suddenly feeling very warm. “Kansas isn’t even where I wanted to go to school!”

Huffing like the prissy smart-ass he is, Sam cocks an eyebrow. “Then why go there?”

“Because dad…” Stopping himself short of finishing the sentence, Dean rephrases. “You know why.”

“I’m just saying that you could make the most of this.” There’s fondness in his voice that Sam reserves only for his big brother, making Dean’s chest ache. “You’re good with tools and cars and machines. I don’t know, maybe you could get an engineering degree and do something with that?”

“Don’t engineers have to be good at math?”

Pulling up to the beach, Dean parks the car. Sammy gives him a reassuring glance from across the Impala’s bench. “Nobody’s born with wicked math skills, Dean. Everyone has to learn it, and it’s alright if it takes you just a little bit more than others to get the hang of it.”

Meeting his brother’s gaze, Dean softens. He sees the way Sam looks at him - as if the sun revolves around his big brother and he deserves all of it and more. He’d do just about anything if Sammy asked him to. Before he can stop himself he’s nodding in agreement. “Okay. Alright.”

The grin that breaks across his kid brother’s face could light up a freaking Christmas tree. They get out of the car and yank on their wetsuits, zipping each other up. Sam’s already got about two inches on Dean, which is really freaking terrifying considering the kid is four years younger than him. Dean’s not sure what Sammy’s doing to get so tall, but whatever it is, it’s working.

They trudge through sand, surfboards slung beneath their arms, towards the water. Sam perks up again. “So, what about you n’ Cas?”

“That’s the big question isn’t it?” Dean says dryly, looking coolly out at the water. “Cas n’ me.”

“Are you gonna come clean with Mom and Dad at least? You know, before you leave?”

Dean stops his trekking mid step to give Sam the most incredulous look he can muster. Slowly, he answers with blatant sarcasm, “Sure! Let me just sidle up to the old man, hand him a beer n’ a bat then tell’em the good news! Hey dad! Good news! Your son loves to fuck dudes.” Sam’s stopped walking by now to watch Dean with a slightly flustered and solemn expression. Dean finishes his miming actions and says flatly, “No dice, Sammy.”

“What’s Cas gonna do when you leave?”

“Geez, you’re full of questions today,” he mutters grudgingly.

Sam shrugs. “I gotta ask, otherwise you won’t tell me.”

There’s a long pause, because honestly, Dean doesn’t know what the hell Cas is gonna do when he leaves. Jo won’t be around to keep him company, Sam’s gonna be busy with school and varsity basketball, and Anna isn’t necessarily Cas’ favorite person to be around. No one at school talks to Cas except for Dean and his friends. People just don’t understand the kid. Dean doesn’t blame them; Cas’ is weird and awkward, he stares too much, and he doesn’t sugar coat things. He’s just different.

With a weak smile, Dean replies, “He’ll grin and bear it.”

The surfing is good, once they get out on the water. Dean and Sam always seem to have a good time whenever they can make it out to surf together. It’s nice to just ride a few waves and let all the bullshit disappear for an hour or so. A storm rolls in around three, forcing the brothers out of the cold and choppy sea. Then there’s the hassle of taking off their suits and getting into the car so they don’t freeze their asses off.

With the heat cranked up and the storm blowing in around them, wind whistling past the car, Sam reveals in a whisper, “I’m going to miss you.”

Patting Sammy’s back and ruffling his hair, Dean grins sadly. “Right back at you, kid.”

*****

Castiel is attempting to braid Jo’s hair as she sits on the floor of his room, flipping through the photos he’s taken since Christmas, when he got the camera from Bobby and Ellen. It’s a Minolta X-700 and he’s been spending all his spare money on getting and developing film for it.

Most of the pictures are random snapshots of Dean or one of his friends; there’s a few of the city or the beach, but Castiel really just likes taking pictures of people. Jo continues to finger through the stack, holding up a photo of Castiel and asking, “Who took this?”

Right on cue, a deep blush rises to Castiel's cheeks at the sight of the picture. It's a Polaroid of Castiel stretched across Dean's bed wearing only a pair of snug boxer briefs. He has his arms raised above his head; his neck elongated and his back arched. The briefs don't do much to hide the visible outline of Castiel's cock. Jo taps her finger to the picture and smiles knowingly. "Nice lighting."

Castiel blushes harder and snatches the photo from Jo's hands. He had completely forgotten to take that out of the freshly printed stack and give it to Dean.

Without missing a beat, Gabriel sneaks up behind him and snags the picture, holding it at arm's length to admire it. Letting out a false squeal of surprise, Gabriel covers his mouth with his hand in shock. "Oh! Cassie, this is scandalous!"

Castiel lunges across the bed to take the photo from Gabriel, accidentally kicking Jo in the process of climbing over the pile of pillows and blankets. He tackles Gabriel to the ground, reaching for the photo that Gabriel is holding away from him.

That's when Dean walks in, right when Castiel pins Gabriel beneath him and struggles desperately for possession of the photo. Dean bursts through the door, grinning from ear to ear and babbling about some old car he just saw in the Safeway parking lot. It only takes a fraction of a second for his attention to zone in on Gabriel and Castiel rolling around on the floor.

"What the fuck?" he laughs, easily stepping over them and taking the picture from Gabriel's outstretched hand. "What's this -- oh!" His eyes widen as he looks over the photo. Rubbing the back of his neck and dropping his bag to the floor, Dean hums. "I forgot about this."

Castiel shoves Gabriel off of him and stands, tearing the photo from Dean and shoving it into his back pocket.

Dean meets his gaze before turning to look over at Gabriel and Jo. "Ellen wants you guys downstairs."

Gabriel whines as Jo drags him from the room, closing the door behind them. Castiel can still faintly hear Gabriel throwing a tantrum as he stomps down the stairs. Dean doesn't move from where he is standing, staring at Castiel like he's the sun.

"That picture is -- "

"Embarrassing," Castiel interrupts him, eyes looking anywhere but at Dean. "You can see all of my scars."

"S'okay to have scars, baby," Dean murmurs reassuringly, coming in close and cupping Castiel's face in his hands. "You're still the most beautiful thing I've ever freakin' seen."

Placing his hands on Dean's wrists, Castiel attempts to push Dean away but fails miserably as Dean backs him against the nearest wall. A breath catches in his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut.

"I'm not -- "

Clapping his hand firmly over Castiel's mouth, Dean lowers his voice to a growl. "Don't you dare say you're not beautiful, Cas. Don't you fucking dare."

Castiel steadies himself for a moment, because he really isn't beautiful. The things he has seen and the things his body has been used for are not beautiful. All of these scars were not created from simple accidents; these scars were made out of pure hatred and disgust.

Dean's hands flutter down to settle on Castiel's hips, urging a relieved sigh from him. It takes a lot out of Castiel not to bury his face in Dean's chest, because there really isn't much time left for him to do that whenever he wants. There's something sturdy and reliable about Dean's body that Castiel takes comfort in -- the fact that it is perpetually there for Castiel to lean on when he needs it.

"I haven't had a nightmare in three weeks," Castiel admits, sliding his hands over Dean's shoulders. "I sleep through the night."

"What do you dream about then?"

In a whisper, Castiel admits, "You." Dean swears his heart shatters at the word.

*****

There’s a pretty decent crowd in the bleachers surrounding the baseball field. Tossing a ball to Chuck - who is making googly eyes at some girl sitting in a lawn chair off to the side - and cracking his neck, Dean feels pretty damn good. It’s the last game of the season and he honestly couldn’t be happier about it. He’s sick of the whole goddamn team except for Chuck and Ash, and that’s saying something because Chuck and Ash are fucking weird sometimes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see Cas perched prettily on the bleachers beside Jo; she’s knocking their shoulders together and singing something in his ear even though he’s playfully trying to get her to quit it. Dean can’t help but smile at that.

Dean’s eyes wander down a couple rows to find his family and Jessica, snacking on some chips. John is speaking with the coach about god knows what and Dean starts to get a little nervous, but what does he have to be nervous about? Absolutely nothing, but here he is, ready to bolt at the first sign of John Winchester’s infamous temper.

Ten minutes later, the game has started and Dean’s up to bat. He skids to second safely and smiles at the second baseman cheekily. The game moves on gradually, just like all the other games this year. Baseball isn’t as much of a rush as football is, and maybe that’s why he isn’t as interested in it as he is with football. It doesn’t really matter anyways, Dean’s not getting a scholarship for baseball.

The game ends shortly after the sun sets. They won, but no one really seems to care because they still aren’t gonna be moving on to playoffs. Coach rounds up the team and babbles on about how well they all played this year, how much they’ll all miss the seniors that are graduating, and how he’s looking forward to seeing the returning faces next year. When they break, Dean goes directly to his father - his head low and his bag slung over his shoulder like a coward. But really, what’s there to be afraid of?

“Good game,” John grumbles, patting his son on the back. “You got a little lazy at the end there, though.”

“I didn’t realize - “ Dean clamps his mouth shut, rephrasing. “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.” His back is straight and his chin is up high, because this is what good, respectful sons look like when they speak to their fathers, and that is exactly what Dean is. A good little soldier. A good son, always ready to follow his father’s orders.

“Go on n’ get cleaned up.” John nods his head to the locker rooms. “We’ll see you at home.”

Once John turns away, Mary kisses her son’s forehead and scurries after him, while Sam lingers to smile at his brother in reassurance. “You did great, Dean. Don’t listen to him. He’s just a sore bastard because he can’t play for shit.”

Dean can’t help but grin at that, especially when Jessica chimes in, “He probably wouldn’t look as good as you do in that uniform either.” Sam rolls his eyes and she laughs, because this is so very typical of them and Dean is so fucking happy to have them around.

“I’ll see ‘ya at home, alright Sammy?”

“Yeah, yeah. See you, Dean.”

They scamper off with Sammy’s arm draped over Jessica’s shoulders, him whispering something in her ear to make her giggle. Dean watches them walk for moment before strolling back to the locker room. He’s happy to find it nearly empty, with most of the team already gone except for a select few. He opts out to take a shower here instead of at home, that way he can just crawl into bed when he gets there. As he lets the water wash away the sweat and dust littered across his body, he allows his mind to go blank. Once he’s scrubbed away all the grime, he shuts off the water and wraps a towel around his waist before heading back to his locker. He’s a little surprised to find Cas leaning against the lockers, his lips turned in a cocky grin.

“What’re you doin’ in here?”

Tipping his head back and resting it on the lockers behind him, Castiel exposes the long column of his throat. “I thought I might be able to catch you in uniform.”

Crowding in Cas’ space, Dean lowers his mouth dangerously close to the shorter boy’s. “Is that it? Got a thing for guys in uniform, Cas?”

Going along with the joke, Cas drawls darkly, “Those white pants are just so tight - they really fit you well.”

“Mmm,” Dean hums, slotting their lips together in a slow, wet kiss that has Dean’s fingers curling around Cas’ hips. “It’s too bad the season's over.”

Purring against Dean’s lips, Castiel murmurs, “Hey, Winchester, how fast do you think you can get a home run?”

They should have seen it coming, really. Dean’s hands slip underneath Cas’ shirt and make the younger boy gasp as he slots their bodies together, but they don’t hear the door. When Dean groans and lets Castiel pin him to the lockers to trail his tongue down Dean’s chest, neither of them hears the faint sound of cautious footsteps. The footsteps are quiet, too, like they know not to be heard, so Cas just shoves a leg between Dean’s thighs and licks into his boyfriend’s mouth. They don’t see it. They don’t see Gordon peering around the end of the lockers, his eyes growing wide at the sight of them. They don’t hear his silent smile or the way he thanks God with his eyes, because he now has something against the two of them.

It’s a shame, really, that they don’t see it, because Gordon is the last person on the planet that should have that knowledge against them. He’s out to destroy the world for the both of them for no reason other than pure envy. Gordon’s only there for another minute before quietly retreating out the door along with the last shred of hope the Dean and Castiel had, without them even knowing he took it.

*****

“Your final will have two parts: a multiple choice section and a free-response section.” Mr. Henriksen drones on as usual with Dean paying little to no attention to him whatsoever. He’s doing really good in math right now, and as long as he passes the final with a 70% or higher, he passes the class. His test average has gone up to a solid 75%. What’s there to worry about?

The bell rings, excusing the class of hungry teenagers to lunch. Castiel comes to stand in front of Dean’s desk; he shoves his binder into his bag and looks up into those blue eyes. “I’ll meet you in the cafeteria, alright? I gotta clean out my gym locker before they toss my shit.”

“Okay,” Castiel replies, his gaze lingering on Dean’s lips for a second longer than necessary. He clears his throat and exits the room. By the time Dean is making his way to the locker room, the halls have cleared so he whistles his way through them, smiling at a few teachers that pass by.

Stepping into the tiled locker room, Dean shivers at how cold they keep it in here. It’s always cold and damp, the faint smell of mildew always present. He cleans out the locker quickly, but realizes he left his textbook in Henricksen’s room so he goes back to retrieve it.

The door to Henricksen’s room isn’t locked, but the lights are off and there is someone ruffling through the file cabinets behind Henriksen's desk. Dean immediately switches on the light to find Gordon holding up a copy of the final. He smiles cheekily at Dean without a hint of guilt.

“How are ya, Deano?”

“I’m just peachy, thanks for asking,” Dean retorts, zoning in on the papers in Gordon’s hand. “Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, this?” Gordon holds it up higher for Dean to see, a cocky glint in his eye. “This is the Algebra II final. I’m copying down the answers.”

“Gordon, you can’t - “

“You didn’t come to the afterparty for the game on Saturday night.” There’s a slyness is Gordon’s movements when he stalks closer and leans against the front of a desk a few steps away from Dean.

Dean shrugs, completely confused by the change in topic. “I was busy. Listen Gordon, about the test...”

“Y’know, you could’ve brought your boyfriend with you…”

“Cas isn’t my - “

Gordon shuts him down before he even has the chance to put any barriers up. “I came by the locker room on the off-chance that I might catch you, y’know, before you left n’ all. I figured you weren’t gonna be doin’ much of anything, but boy, was I wrong."

The blood drains from Dean’s face. Gordon came by the locker room when he and Cas were doing...things. It’s feels like Gordon has just punched him in the gut and forced all the air from his lungs. His hands begin to shake as he straightens up slowly, barely managing to keep his emotions in check. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Drop the act, Winchester,” Gordon drawl, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. “How long have you been sucking the foster kid’s dick?”

Slamming his eyes shut, Dean fights back the urge to scream, because oh shit, this really can’t be happening. Not now, not when everything is finally how it should be.

“A couple of months, I dunno.”

Smirking, Gordon ponders for a moment. “Does daddy know you’re fucking the neighbor boy?”

“No,” Dean croaks. He feels light-headed, like he might slip into nonexistence and never return.

Gordon hums, taking a step closer to Dean. “Alright, listen up. I’m not gonna say a word to anyone, as long as you do everything I say.” Standing completely still, Dean manages a small nod signalling Gordon to continue. Standing directly in front of Dean, Gordon speaks to him as if he were a child. He points a finger at Dean’s face. “You didn’t see shit here, alright? I was never in here. Got it?” Dean nods obediently and Gordon smiles with satisfaction. “For the next four months, Dean, we’re gonna be best buds and I’m also gonna make your life a living hell, but on one condition.”

“What is it?” Dean asks weakly.

“By the end of the summer, you’re gonna break it off with that fucking faggot or I’m gonna out your faggot ass to every single person I know, including your dad.” Dean’s about to argue, but Gordon hushes him. “No, listen to me, Deano. I’m doing you a favor, alright? I’m letting you have the rest of the summer to get this gay shit outta your system, but one way or another, it’s gonna end for the two of you. As for Cas, he can’t know about any of it. Got it?”

There are no words, so Dean just manages a small nod before Gordon is clapping Dean on the back and smiling. “See, that wasn’t so bad?” Humming to himself, Gordon returns the papers to the teacher’s desk and shoves his own copy into his pocket. “See you around, fag.”

Gordon’s gone after that and Dean feels his entire world shatter with the sound of the slamming door. Of all people, of fucking course Gordon is the one to find out about him and Cas. It’s like God, or whoever is fucking with him, is purposefully making sure that Dean’s life is absolute shit no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! I'm going to try my best to keep up with posting, but be patient please since I just started my first year of college and I'm trying to manage my time more efficiently. :)


	19. Chapter 19

There’s a massive crowd of people outside the auditorium after graduation. It’s a sea of blue and white gowns, tassels lifting with every gust of wind. The ceremony was really long and Dean kept having to sit up and then sit down; it got pretty old. Dean’s pushing through the crowd in search of his family and friends. Jo’s golden hair catches Dean’s eye and he makes his way towards his family. Cas is laughing at some joke Gabriel has just told him and Sammy is making googly eyes at Jessica while the parents chat nearby.

“Dean!” John shouts when he spots him. “Come take a picture with your mother n’ me."

Castiel fumbles a little when John shoves a camera in his hands and commands him to take a picture of the Winchester family. He does it anyways, and smiles at John when he mutters a thank you. Castiel lifts his eyes from John’s face and that’s when Dean catches his eye. With a smug grin, Dean shoots Cas one last glance before lining up beside Gabe and Jo for a photo of the three of them holding up their diplomas. After a few more pictures, they all head back to the Singer’s house for dinner. The food is good and everyone is in high spirits for celebration - Dean eats at least three slices of apple pie before clambering up three flights of stairs to the den where all the “young folk” (as Bobby puts it) are hanging out.

The Singer children are sitting on the floor in a circle, Anna nursing a stolen bottle of wine before handing it off to Castiel who takes it eagerly into his hands. Dean watches the way Cas tosses it back, like it’s fresh water and he’s been stranded at sea for days on end. It’s a little unnerving, really, to see Cas so determined to drink himself into a stupor just so he can pretend to be happy about this upcoming change in their lives. It’s not like he’s fooling anyone, especially not Dean. That’s the sad part about Cas' self-destruction, because he thinks no one has a clue but Dean sees it and he can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

Because he’s the reason it’s happening.

The night wears on. The parents drink because they are happy that their children are prospering in a world so harsh. The children drink because they have no clue what to they need to do in order to survive in a world so cruel. Alcohol has an impressive ability to suppress any person's mind of all things troubling and painful.

That's how Dean and Cas manage to stumble into the Castiel's room at two in the morning, yanking at each other's clothes. Dean's parents have gone home by now and Bobby and Ellen went to bed about an hour ago. Across the hall, Dean can faintly hear the sound of laughter and music coming from the den where the rest of their friends are still talking.

Dean forgets about them pretty quickly with Cas ushering him into his room and locking the door behind them. Grabbing a handful of Castiel's starched white shirt, he pushes the younger boy against the door and slots their mouths together, tracing Cas' plump bottom lip with his tongue. It earns him a gentle groan from the back of Cas' throat, sending chills down Dean's spine as he slots their hips together effortlessly.

Everything is so soft and nice and slow. Alcohol also has that effect on reality; it makes everything seem a lot prettier than it really is.

Dean's a little surprised when Cas places a hand firm against his chest and pushes him away. "Y-you alright?"

Tilting his head to the side, Cas gives him a faint smile. "Sit down on the bed. Take off your socks and shoes."

Dean does as he's told, sitting at the end of the bed facing the wall where Castiel goes to stand in front of him only a few feet away. After he's taken off his socks and shoes, Castiel looks at Dean in a way that he's never seen before. There's something soft and unsure behind Castiel's eyes, like he's not sure if this moment is real or not.

He starts slowly, reaching his hands up to his blue tie dangling from his neck and keeping his eyes on Dean. Dean follows the movement as Cas undoes the tie and drops it to the ground before going to unbutton the wrinkled white shirt he wore to the graduation ceremony. His fingers work slowly over the buttons until the last one is undone, Cas smiles coyly and allows the garment to slowly drag down his shoulders, revealing his pale skin to Dean.

"Christ..." Dean involuntarily slips. He sounds absolutely wrecked already; his voice strained and low. He's even sitting on the very edge of the bed, his body leaning towards Cas even though he is clearly out of reach.

Cas trails one of his hands down his chest, stopping at his slacks to unfasten them. He bends down to pull them off, along with his boxers.

Dean's breath catches in his throat when Cas straightens back up, completely naked.

"You're so beautiful." The words escape Dean's mouth the way rain falls from the sky; easily and without concern. Cas is long and lean, but not skinny like his clothes make him look - he has muscular thighs and strong shoulders that Dean wants to bite into. His body is pale, except for the darkened scars that decorate his body here and there. Dean never asks about the scars.

Stepping out of his jeans that are now pooled at his feet, Castiel takes small steps until he is standing directly in front of Dean. Dean spreads his legs so that Cas can wedge himself in between them. He places his hand on the soft skin of Castiel’s hip and exhales with relief, rubbing his thumb over Cas’ protruding hipbone. He trails his index finger over a scar that rests just above the bone.

“That was for saying no.” Castiel whispers, his voice just a faint reminder of himself. Hesitantly, Dean drags his hand over Cas’ skin to another bubbled scar that lies just above his right nipple. Without fail, Cas answers. “That was for crying.” Lifting his head, Dean locks eyes with Cas and brings his lips to the scar, kissing it gently. It’s all so inconsequential.

Dean’s hands travel back down to firmly grip Cas’ hips as the younger boy straddles Dean’s thighs in one swift movement. He’s already half-hard, pressing against Dean’s stomach while he grinds down onto Dean’s still clothed body. Pulling Dean to him, Castiel crashes their mouths together and licks into Dean’s mouth with such ease that it sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. Cas is wiggling and grinding and twisting in Dean’s lap and Dean is anxiously attempting to buck up into the friction but to no avail.

Brushing his lips to Dean's ear, Castiel rasps. "Lay down with me." He slides off of Dean's lap and stretches out on the comforter, raising his arms above his head as he arches his bed in a stretch. Clumsily, Dean stands and removes his own clothes until he is just as bare as the boy before him.

Dean's got some scars, too, but his scars are from falling off of bikes and climbing too many trees. He can feel Castiel's eyes traveling over his body, searching for answers to a question neither of them really care to ask. It hurts, really - feeling Castiel gaze at him in his quiet, intense way, all the while knowing that he has no choice but to string him along until their time is up. Dean knows it's wrong, but he would much rather have this go unnoticed and unheard of rather than have their entire story blown up in front of everyone to see.

So, he lies down beside Castiel and presses their naked bodies together with the gentleness that Cas' deserves.

*****

Dean essentially becomes Gordon’s bitch. He tags along to parties, cleans Gordon’s car, runs errands for him - basically the only thing Dean doesn’t have to do is suck Gordon’s dick. He even sets Gordon up with an old girlfriend, knowing that the bastard has no good intentions whatsoever, but following along all the same. Dean is constantly on edge – always looking over his shoulder to make sure Gordon won’t sneak up behind him and fuck him over one last time.

If this is what it takes to keep Cas safe, he will do it. He also notices that he has started to steel himself away occasionally when he is with Cas. It’s minor things, like leaning away from brushed fingers and dropping the eye contact that Cas loves so much. These things are simple and painful, but entirely necessary. He does not want to give Cas up and he doesn’t plan on it, but until he can figure out how to keep Gordon quiet, then it must be done.

*****

Towards the end of the first month of summer vacation, Dean convinces the group to go camping. Well, it didn’t take much convincing, but it was his idea. It’s the perfect time to get away from the feeling of losing time by escaping into the trees and stars and roar of the ocean. Dean drives with one hand on the wheel and the other of Cas’ knee, brushing his thumb over the faded denim of his jeans. Gabe snores in the passenger seat, leaning against the window as Sammy, Jess, and Anna argue over the best way to hide a body. Dean isn’t even sure how they got onto the topic of death and burying remains, but he can’t help smiling as he listens to the ridiculous arguments coming from Sam’s mouth.

“No, that doesn’t make any sense, Anna.” Huffing with frustration, Sam adjusts himself to match Anna’s stare with Jess trapped between the two of them. “You take the body, tie a couple of cement blocks to it or fill the body with bricks, and drive it really far out to throw it over the boat. No one ever knows.”

Whipping her hair out of her face, Anna raises her voice over the sounds of the rolled down windows and radio. “Alright, Winchester, you win.”

Beside him, Castiel fidgets uncomfortably. Dean squeezes the younger boy’s knee as it starts to bounce nervously before throwing an arm over his shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to his temple.

“You okay?”

Castiel hums. “I’m perfectly fine.”

There’s still a tightness in his jaw that Dean doesn’t overlook. These things are never easy. Quiet utterances and weary glances are all reassurances but they both know that there is no truth behind any of it. Put on a happy face, though, for the sake of everyone else.

A tight feeling clenches at Dean’s stomach as he scans the road carefully. Gordon’s words are echoing in his head. He’s got two months left; two months to figure out a way to stay together. His stomach feels as though it is full of lead. Dean knows there isn't much hope for the two of them, but it still hasn't stopped him from dreaming of it. He always feels one step behind, like he’s never going to be able to catch up. He feels like he’s drowning.

The campsite is right by the water, tucked in the sand dunes surrounded by trees. It takes them an hour or so to unload and set up camp, but by the time they’ve settled in its already four o’clock.

Driving into the small coastal town of Bodega Bay, the teenagers feast on clam chowder and sourdough bread. There is this raw ache that echoes through Dean’s body, setting him on fire in a way like no other. They drive through the towns winding roads blasting the radio with the windows rolled down. Cas rests his head on Dean’s shoulder and it sparks a bittersweet ripple of pain down his spine. It's a simple reminder that moments like these are limited. Dean fucking hates that. He hates knowing that their time is limited to a few short months. He hates that he has to lie to his parents and now he has to lie to Cas.

He’s always one step behind.

Once they return from dinner, Cas and Dean walk through the dunes to the beach and settle themselves into the cool sand. Tucked away in their own quiet cove, they give into the simple and comforting touches that they hide away in broad daylight. The sun sets over the water and sets it afire with golden waves and shimmering ripples. In the distance, there is the faint sound of music and roaring laughter coming from their campsite.

Dean watches Cas’ lips turn upwards in a frail smile at the sounds, following the boy’s blue eyes as they skim over the golden scenery. There’s something about the way the glow of a sunset and Castiel’s smile that never fails to make Dean’s heart stop in his chest. Somethng that perfect really shouldn’t be allowed on this earth – it belongs to the heavens or somewhere so much more deserving of its beauty. For Christ’s sake, Dean couldn’t put the sight of it into words even if he tried. He could spend his entire life gazing at Cas, and that’s the simple truth.

“I remember the first time I saw you.”

Dean’s attention turns back to Castiel at the words. Intertwining their fingers together, Dean brushes his thumb over Castiel’s.

“Yeah?”

“It was my first night at the Singer’s.” His voice melts over Dean the way it always does. “I looked out the window and I saw you pull up in the Impala. I remember wondering if I would see you at school.”

Dean waits for a moment before replying. “The first time I saw you was in Algebra and I remember thinking you were fucking gorgeous.”

Blushing deeply, Castiel pulls away slightly and elbows at Dean’s ribs playfully. In retaliation, Dean captures him in his strong arms and pulls the younger boy to him. They wrestle for moment until Castiel turns his head abruptly and catches Dean’s lips in a kiss.

They have shared many kisses, but this kiss tugs at Dean’s worried heart just by the sheer desperation of it. It starts off slow – like many of their affections – but soon Castiel pours his entire soul into it and Dean swears he swallows it whole without a second thought. Bracing his hands on either side of Cas’ face, Dean pulls away to shower Cas’ face in small kisses.

“I love you.” He hums and presses a final kiss to the top of the boy’s forehead. “Don’t ever forget that, no matter what, okay?”

“I couldn’t even if I tried.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to take so long updating! I know this is a much shorter chapter than my usual ones, but I've been ridiculously busy with my first year at college and I just haven't had that much time to write. Don't worry though! I plan on completely finishing this fic (eventually). Also, thank you for all of your sweet comments, I really do appreciate them. Please subscribe/leave kudos if you haven't already or recommend this fic to your friends if you think they would enjoy it! 
> 
> Sorry if this chapter has a lot of mistakes, I was in a rush to get it up so I didn't have my beta read it. If there are any major errors, just let me know and I'll fix them. 
> 
> The next chapter will be much longer and will contain SO MUCH ANGST. Please, prepare yourselves. 
> 
> XOXO - Jos


	20. Chapter 20

They end up in the city one early August morning with a camera, a freshly rolled joint, and fifty dollars to their names. Tilting his head up, Castiel admires how the skyscrapers tower above them in a nearly menacing reflection of blue sky and white clouds – the faintest memory of a morning fog ebbing off into the sea. Wrapping Castiel’s hand in his, Dean tugs at his distracted companion and they continue walking down the noisy street. Castiel smiles at Dean lightly squeezing his hand – _I. Love. You._ – a secret code of touch that they can hide behind when words are far too risky.

At home, tucked away in bedrooms with creaky floors, there is no risk. This morning had been warm – Castiel had felt at home wrapped against Dean’s chest. It was the kind of warmth that melts away all of your worries and leaves you raw.

These are the types of days that Castiel would kill for.

They make their way lazily through the city by subway, bus, and foot – traffic on the streets and in their minds riddles the day with casualties of ending summer bliss. There is no doubt that they need this: these moments of complete isolation amidst the hustle and bustle of real world living. It reminds the two teens that in the real world, no one is really watching them unless they demand to be seen.

All they really need is the necessary amount of recognition to maintain existence. Dean and Castiel require the pure attention that love so casually demands. How is it that their love is so often dismissed while other young hearts are praised for their bravery? What about their sacrifice? Their heartache?

Castiel would kill for that, too.

Making their way through the city within a world of survivors and liars, the pair find themselves in a back alley passing a lit joint between them.

“Cas, c’mere.” Dean murmurs, the joint dangling between his thumb and index finger in the most delicate position possible. Castiel edges closer as Dean brings the joint to his lips and inhales. Knowingly, Castiel leans forward and presses his mouth to Dean’s – inhaling the poisoned air that Dean exhales into him.

Something about sharing a breath really makes you question how long you can keep sharing the same air until it starts to kill you.

Once they are both properly stoned out of their minds, they return to the street and back into isolation. Castiel remembers the anonymity of the city and how he cherished it on the days he also wanted to forget who he was. It’s easy to do once you have good enough reason.

“All I ever wanted was to meet somebody like you.” With a smile that could light up the city, Dean laughs as Castiel lifts his camera and captures the moment.

Bringing the camera away from his face, Castiel smiles faintly. “All I ever wanted was you.”

 *****

The wind whistles through the trees, whispering to Castiel with the softness of a lullaby. He shoves his hands into his sweatshirt pockets and crosses the street to Dean’s house. The Winchester home is dark except for a faint glow coming from the window of Dean’s room in the back side of the house. Glancing around the emptied street, Castiel gazes at the settling fog illuminated by the street lamps and rising sun. The entire sky glows orange and pink with the oncoming new day. 

With practiced stealth, he climbs up the trellis leading to the Dean’s roof. The window is already cracked when he gets to it, so he pushes it open and clambers inside as gracefully as possible. Closing the window behind him, Castiel toes off his shoes and scampers across the room to the blanketed figure curled up in bed. Dean grumbles when Castiel nudges him over, crawling under the blankets and pressing their bodies together.

“What time s’it?” Burrowing his head into a pillow, Dean shifts his body to fit perfectly beside Castiel’s.

Brushing his lips over the freckled flesh of Dean’s shoulder and tugging the blanket over himself, Castiel murmurs, “It’s almost seven. Go back to sleep, Dean.”

He presses his icy cheeks to the warmth of Dean’s back and listens intently to the rhythm of Dean’s breath as he falls back asleep. Humming softly to himself, Castiel tangles their ankles together and lifts one hand to trace the freckles of Dean’s back into unknown constellations. His fingertips follow the curve of Dean’s spine and dip of his shoulders, claiming the space with a simple contact.

Castiel cannot believe how gratifying it is to touch Dean and to still feel nonexistent all at once – usually love and invisibility don’t live harmoniously. The circumstances here are different, though, because Castiel doesn’t know how to live outside of love and he just doesn’t want to live without Dean. Most of his being with Dean is nonexistent, too. If no one knows, then it isn’t real, right?

Their relationship is like the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus – you just have to believe in it enough and it might still mean something to you.

Dean emits a deep hum from the back of his throat in response as Castiel glides his hands over Dean’s bare sides beneath the covers. He flattens his body against Dean’s and skims his hands up Dean’s sides and over his stomach. He sweeps his fingers down the older boy’s toned abdomen and rests his flattened palm just below his bellybutton. Releasing a delicate breath against the soft skin of Dean’s neck, Castiel skims a finger over the waistband of Dean’s boxers.

“My parents – “

“Already left for work,” Castiel answers without concern, allowing his hand to graze over Dean’s clothed erection. Castiel hums in appreciation of Dean’s budding arousal and presses his half-hard cock against the crease of Dean’s ass. Using his free hand, he tweaks Dean’s nipple with a slight amount of pressure and earns himself a groan in response. “I want you.”

Breathlessly, Dean whispers, “I’m yours.”

There’s an implied sense of limit on the expression as it leaves Dean’s mouth, and even Castiel knows it. For how long, exactly? How much longer will Dean be his? It hurts too much to think about; the ugly truth of it pains him to the point of near exhaustion.

“Always?” He slips his hand under the waistband of Dean’s boxers, teasing him with a single brush of his thumb over the head of his cock. “Say it.”

“ _Always, Cas._ Always,” Dean answers in a needy whimper. “S’long as you want me.”

The problem is that Castiel will always want him, whether Dean wants him back or not. It’s nearly the end, too. September is fast approaching with Castiel’s first day of his senior year in just one week and Dean’s move-in day the week after. Everything is coming to a close but without any of the closure that Castiel so sorely needs. There is no reassurance behind promises, because that’s all they are – just promises.

“Promise me.” He wraps Dean’s erection in a coaxing fist and kisses his temple lovingly.

“I’m yours. Forever.”

He gives in then, allowing Dean the satisfaction of the pressure and rhythm his hand can provide. Closing his eyes, Castiel relishes in the little sounds and movements coming from Dean as he pumps his fist with ease. Dean unravels for him, shifting over to lie on his back and grabbing at the back of Castiel’s neck to bring him down for a wet kiss. In slow desperation, they undress each other in smooth, practiced motions. Their bare bodies glide against one another, eliciting wispy sighs and moans from the both of them.

Pressing their aching cocks together, Castiel gasps into Dean’s ear, “Make love to me like it’s the last time you ever will.” The statement leaves Castiel feeling raw and vulnerable. “Please…”

Resting his forehead on Castiel’s, Dean releases a heavy sigh. “Cas… you can’t talk like that, baby.”

“Just this once.”

For a few seconds, Dean says nothing. For a moment Castiel worries that he should not have said it – maybe he should have just kept quiet and let the thought burn a hole in his heart and lungs. Then Dean is pressing a hand against Castiel’s bare chest, flipping him onto his back and settling between his legs. Meeting Dean’s eyes, Castiel sees something there that he has not seen before and it worries him. Instead of keeping his gaze, Dean’s eyes dart away and Castiel is left wondering what Dean knows that he doesn’t.

The thought passes just as quickly as it came when Dean lowers his head and takes Castiel’s erection into his mouth. Digging his fingers into Dean’s shoulders, Castiel groans helplessly and relishes in the feeling of Dean’s mouth around him. Keeping on hand on the back of Dean’s head, Castiel reaches over to the nightstand and pulls out a bottle of lube and a condom. Without a word, Dean flips Castiel onto his hands and knees.

Castiel lets out a small yelp at a usually hot, wet pressure circling his entrance. The sensation is entirely new and absolutely perfect, forcing a moan out of Castiel when he realizes that Dean is using his tongue to open him up. Pressing Castiel into the bed, Dean spreads Castiel’s cheeks further and swipes his tongue over the puckered pink hole.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Dean mutters mindlessly, pushing a lube-covered finger into Castiel with no warning. Arching his back at the familiar feeling, Castiel clutches the sheets and groans into the mattress. One finger quickly becomes two, leaving Castiel nearly breathless with every brush against his prostate.

“Dean, I’m ready.”

It all comes down to that, really. Saying you’re ready even if you aren’t because the ache is worth it. Castiel has always been fond of reminders, and this is really just one of those forever-fading reminders he so desperately clings to.

Pulling his fingers out of Castiel, Dean rolls the younger boy onto his back once more and places himself between Cas’ spread thighs. Then Dean is lining himself up with Castiel’s legs thrown delicately over his broad, tanned shoulders. When Dean finally pushes the head of his cock into Castiel, he swears it feels like the first time all over again. Castiel clings to Dean’s frame with his fingers like the supple flesh of Dean’s skin is the edge of the Earth, and he’s about to fall off the face of the planet. Every thrust, every change in angle, every whispered word, every soft sigh, every kiss, every second of eye contact feels like it might be the last, and it has Castiel’s head spinning.

So he clings to Dean, and prays that if he holds on tight enough then maybe he won’t ever have to let go.

 *****

Scanning the room for anyone he genuinely wants to talk to, Dean sighs dejectedly. Earlier Anna and Gabe had been here taking Jell-O shots and singing along to the music, their voices carrying from the kitchen all the way to the backyard. Glancing into the kitchen and dining room, Dean ends up empty-handed and alone in the center of a raging teenage hurricane. He pushes through the crowd of people and the darkly lit house, cradling his beer close to his chest. The liquid swishes in its red cup, spilling over the edges slightly. Looking down at the drink in his hand, Dean’s chest swells with an overwhelming sense of isolation in the midst of the crowd. These are all faces he knows – people he has known for years – but none of them really know him. To them, he’s Dean Winchester: running back for the football team, lady-killer, Homecoming King, classic car enthusiast. They don’t know him, though. Cas knows him.

Dean didn’t want to go out, but it’s not like he has much of a fucking choice – not with Gordon hanging Cas over his head every second of every fucking day. It’s killing him, knowing that there is no way out of this. Regardless of how hard he tries, Dean knows there is no saving this, and having that knowledge feels like his heart has been ripped from his chest. There have been plenty of wasted hours trying to find a way to stay with Cas, and with every passing minute, Dean finds himself even more discouraged than when he began. He has one week left – seven days.

If he doesn’t call it off, Gordon will tell John and then it will all be over anyways. If he does break it off with Cas, he’d have to give a legit reason in order to make sure Cas doesn’t try to stay together. He’d have to tell Cas that he never loved him, that it was all a lie. Either way, Dean knows it could potentially kill the both of them.

“Hey there, grumpy.”

Dean turns his head to find Anna standing beside him, her grin wide and her eyes glassy. He smiles down at her. “Hey buddy. What’re you doing?”

“M’having s’time of my life, clearly.” Her red lips curve into a wicked smile, she sways from side to side in a drunken haze. Dean resists the urge to reach out and steady her. “Tonight’s gonna be fun.”

“Looks like you’re already having a pretty good time, kiddo,” he answers, speaking over the roar of the music. Someone pushes her to the side as they try to make their way through the crowd, so Dean grabs her arm to keep her upright. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Lots. Lots. Lots,” she chimes gleefully, pointing a playful finger at his face. “S’all good, Dean-o. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

He quickly glances around the dark living room overflowing with people as he gently drags her to the side of the room. Leaning her against the wall, Dean sighs. “Stay here. I’m going to get you some water, okay? Don’t move.”

This is where Dean messes up; this moment in time is his cardinal mistake. The second he decides to leave his drunken friend to fend for herself while a pack of hungry wolves tracks her with their eyes from across room is the moment that marks the beginning of a tragedy. Shoving his way through the crowd to the kitchen, Dean is unaware of Gordon pouring a drink and dropping something into the amber liquid. In that small span of time, Dean doesn’t see Gordon corner Anna and he definitely doesn’t expect to be stopped in the hall by Lisa Braeden of all freaking people.

“Dean, I thought I saw you earlier!” Extending her arms as she struts towards him, Lisa grins from ear to ear and corners Dean into a hug. It takes Dean a second to maneuver the cup smoothly so that it doesn’t spill as he accepts her embrace reluctantly. Pulling away, she keeps a firm hand on Dean’s arm with a friendly squeeze. “Have you been avoiding me or something?”

Laughing nervously, Dean glances towards the door of the kitchen as he tries to spot Anna from afar. He looks back at Lisa and reassures her, “No way. Now why’d I do that?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs her pretty little shoulders and sighs. “I just haven’t seen you in a while…”

Reaching very deep within himself, Dean finds that charming Winchester personality he is so well known for and manages to put on his best smile. “I’m a busy guy.”

“We both know that’s not completely true, Dean Winchester,” she chastises him sweetly, pointing an innocent finger at his chest with a smile. “You just spend all of your time with that kid Castiel. What’s so special about him anyways?”

Everything, Dean wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he attempts to hide the blush that rises in his cheeks by laughing and looking down at his feet. “Nothing,” he shrugs. What a goddamn lie. Dean swears he’s never told a worse lie in his entire life. “Cas is just like everybody else.” He quickly glances over her shoulder again and holds up a finger in a signal for her to wait. “Give me one second, Lisa. I gotta check on something.”

Rushing through the kitchen archway into the living room, Dean searches the space to no avail and returns back to Lisa. “Hey Lis – have you seen Anna? She was just in there and I went to get her some water but she’s gone.”

Lisa spins around with her dark hair swinging out around her as she turns to face Dean, who still stands in the doorway clutching a full cup of water. “Last time I saw her was before I came in here to talk to you. Gordon brought her a drink and then they went somewhere else.”

A sick feeling settles in the center of Dean’s stomach. Setting the water down on the countertop and crossing the room to stand in front of Lisa, Dean feels like time is running out. “Do you know where they went?” Lisa shakes her head and Dean shouts louder this time, “Has anyone seen where Gordon or Anna went?”

“Anna? One of the Singer kids?” A kid Dean recognizes as someone on the soccer team shrugs and points to the stairs. “I saw Gordon dragging that redhead sophomore upstairs a couple of minutes ago.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” Grabbing Dean by the shoulder before he can leave the room, Lisa forces Dean to look back at her.

“She’s trashed. I just saw her – she could barely fucking stand up!” he sputters anxiously in response, trying to rein his thoughts in enough to form a proper response. Taking a deep breath to calm down, Dean exhales. “Anna should _not_ be alone with Gordon right now. I’m going to go get her and take her home.”

Without waiting for Lisa to respond, Dean bolts from the room and knocks on every single freaking door until he hears Gordon’s muffled shout answer, “This one’s taken! Get your own room! 

Ignoring the response on the other side of the door, Dean shoves the door open and it’s as if time stops for a moment. The room is still in the pale blue light of the moon filtering through the window, illuminating the bare and unmoving flesh of Anna’s naked body. Above her, Gordon scrambles to pull his pants and boxers up from around his ankles as he climbs off of the unconscious girl. And now – now all Dean can see is red. He sees fire and blood and searing pain. Marching over to the bed, Dean elbows Gordon out of the way and goes to cradle Anna’s limp head in his arms. Pressing his fingers to her neck, Dean checks her pulse while Gordon still struggles to redress himself.

“Winchester!” Gordon grabs at Dean’s shoulder once he’s adjusted, pulling him up so that they are face to face. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing? Get the hell out!”

Staring stone-faced at his old teammate before looking back at Anna’s still body, Dean quietly announces what they all already know. “You raped her.”

Seizing a handful of Dean’s shirt and shaking him violently, Gordon growls, “You better not say anything about this to nobody, you hear me?”

“Fuck that! You think I’m gonna keep my mouth shut about this? God, you really are a piece of work, Gordon.”

“Who do you think you are, Winchester?” Gordon yells, shoving him aggressively against the wall with fistful of Dean’s shirt in his hand. “You think you’re some kind of fucking saint? Saving one person still won’t fix you, you know. Saving that whore won’t make you any less of a goddamn faggot. If you rat on me, I hope you goddamn know that everybody in this fucking town will find out that you’ve been fucking that queer Castiel before you even get the chance to save face.”

“Go ahead.” Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dean nods. He has said his goodbyes. If this it, then this is it. “Do it, Gordon. Threatening me still isn’t gonna save you from rotting in jail.” Bringing up his leg, Dean slams his knee into Gordon’s gut and shoves him onto the ground. “You sick son-of-a-bitch! I hope you burn in hell.”

Stepping over the crumpled form of Gordon on the floor, Dean drags Anna’s limp body across the bed and quickly dresses her in what he assumes is her t-shirt and jeans he finds on the floor. Gathering Anna in his arms, Dean heads for the door and rushes out of the house as fast as he can.

As soon as he reaches the end of the walkway, Gordon comes running out of the house and yells after him. “Winchester!” His voice echoes across the street. A few people from inside come out to watch whatever they think is about to transpire. “You fucking queer! You better pray to God that your dad doesn’t kill you as soon as he finds out you’ve been sucking off the neighborhood fag for the last year! You better fucking hope God strikes you dead before your dad does.”

Then Dean hears the quiet chatter from the house begin – he hears it rise as the sound of Gordon’s threats die out in his head. As soon as it starts, Dean knows there’s no turning back.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I am officially done with my first semester of college and University of the Pacific! Yay!!! I originally was going to put all of this into one chapter, but then I decided to split it up into two different chapters. Within the next week or so I will post the second portion of this chapter. 
> 
> Happy Holidays! 
> 
> Please leave any questions or comments if you want and leave kudos/subscribe if you haven't already!
> 
> XOXO - Gossip Girl (AKA: Joslynn)


	21. Chapter 21

The entire drive to the hospital Dean couldn’t stop thinking about what he was going to do once he got there. Which is funny in a sick, twisted way because now that he’s here, all he can think about is how shitty it is. After pulling into the parking lot of the hospital, Dean takes one look at Anna’s limp body buckled into the passenger seat and it’s as though the world suddenly loses a dimension. Everything just appears to have gone completely still – absolutely devoid of purpose and reason – with force of all of the pent up frustration and guilt. Dean’s eyes brim with tears and his perception of reality completely loses a sense of purpose. This must be what it feels like to finally toss in the goddamn towel and give up entirely. With a heavy sigh and a heart that has collapsed in on itself, Dean slowly regains composure. All he knows at this point in time is that he really needs to get it together before he takes Anna inside, because this is gonna be a living hell for her once she wakes up.

Wrapping her in his leather jacket that he finds lying in the backseat, Dean carefully cradles her in his arms as they enter through the ER’s front doors. The waiting room is nearly empty, with only a few random seats taken here and there by other people who look better off than the red-headed fallen angel in Dean’s arms. It’s a quiet night in the waiting room – not like that night Dean had to get stitches on his hand. That night was wild and bloody; pain had found its way into what seemed like hundreds of bodies, and he had waited for hours before getting his stitches. He remembers that night pretty clearly. That was the first time he ever thought he lost Cas.

It hurts more the second time.

 Seconds after he walks through the door, a nurse turns and rushes over to Dean, “What happened to her?” And then it hits him again like a ton of bricks right on his chest, making him gasp for air as two more nurses take her from Dean’s arms. Another nurse guides Dean to a chair the moment she sees his entire body is shaking with the sharp pains of grief shooting through his chest.

“He raped her.” It comes out of him in a flat, monotonous stream. Like all life has been drained from his system.  

“Hey, listen to me…” The nurse gently pats his back and lowers her voice to a sweet tone that hums in Dean’s ears. “I need you to take a deep breath, and I need you to be strong so that we can help her.”

Sighing deeply through his nose, Dean lifts his head and wipes at the sudden wetness on his cheeks before speaking. “She’s my friend’s sister – we were at the same party, and she had too much to drink. I just went to get her some water, that’s all I was tryin’ to do and when I got back she was gone.” The nurse places her hand over Dean’s as he struggles to get the words out his mouth. These words, these broken syllables and harsh sounds are all reminders that nothing is ever going to be okay. He is facing the harsh reality that by tomorrow morning he will have witnessed a sexual assault, broken up with his boyfriend, and gotten the shit kicked out of him by his own fucking father. There’s no fucking way he’s going to come out of this scott-free. He tries his best to swallow the lump in his throat and continues. “I found her upstairs…. he was, Gordon was on top of her and we got in a fight and now he’s gonna tell me dad – he’s gonna tell him about me and Cas. Jesus fucking Christ. Why did this have to happen? Why? He raped _her_ and now he’s going to get me _killed_.”

“What is your name?”

“Dean Winchester…” He quickly adds, “My mom, Mary, she works here. She’s a nurse and I don’t know if she’s working right now, but I need to call – I gotta call Anna’s foster parents.”

Hesitantly, as though she is afraid Dean might flip his freaking lid with any sudden movements, the nurse pats his knee and stands. “Stay here, Dean. I will be right back.”

Then she’s gone – disappearing behind the swinging double doors and returning moments later followed by a police officer, who takes a seat beside him and offers a kind smile before pulling out her notepad. “Hello Dean, I’m Officer Jody Mills. I need you to tell me exactly what happened so that I can file a report.”

Looking past the Officer Mills, Dean makes eye contact with the nurse he was with before and asks, “Is she awake?”

“Yes, she is. We called her guardians and they will be here soon.” Proffering yet another small smile to the shaking teenage boy beside her, Officer Mills continues, “I need you to tell me what happened—“

“I already told someone.” Dean replies with a sigh. “I told the nurse everything.”

Nodding in encouragement, she sighs. “Yes, I understand that, but for the police report I need you to tell me exactly what happened again.”

The nervousness sets in all over again, sending Dean into overdrive. “I just –“ He sits up straighter and focuses on keeping his voice level. “I was at this party and she was really drunk – I went to get her some water. I came back and she was gone. He had taken her…”

“Who is he?”

Lifting his head and meeting Officer Mill’s calm complexion, Dean exhales sharply the name that he can’t stop repeating over and over in his mind. “Gordon Walker.”

“What did Gordon do to her?”

The tightness in his throat builds as his eyes begin to water once again, and he struggles to keep himself calm. “He put something in her drink; I don’t know what it was, but when I found them she was unconscious.” A moment after Dean’s first tear drops onto his jeans and makes a dark blue splotch on the faded denim, he stays silence for a short period of time before Officer Mills places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Dean, I know that you’ve probably had a pretty rough night – I mean for Christ’s sake you’ve got a split lip – but you are helping your friend. I know it’s lot to deal with but I need to know everything.”

The touch is so motherly, so kind and warm with the intention to soothe away every worry and ache – it gives him the strength to continue. “He was on top of her, and she was completely naked, and and and I pulled the son-of-a-bitch off of her. He raped her. He fucking raped her and I could’ve stopped it sooner if I had just stayed with her. I should’ve just…I shouldn’t have left her and I did, I left her and it’s my fucking fault…I can’t believe it…I cant—“

“Dean – Dean, it’s okay. It’s not your fault…”

It still feels like it is, though.

Dean rubs away the tears with the back of his hands and glances up at Officer Mill’s gentle face. “When will Bobby and Ellen—“

Before he can finish the question, Bobby, Ellen, and Cas rush through the ER doors and they immediately find Dean in the nearly empty waiting room. Within seconds Ellen has Dean in a tight hug, her face buried in Dean’s neck with a sob. Even with Ellen’s tears dripping down the side of his neck, all of Dean’s attention is on Cas. At this very moment, Cas is here and he is looking at Dean like he just saved the fucking world.

It makes him feel like absolute shit.

“How is she?” Bobby’s gruff voice fills the room with a simply question that has a pretty plain answer, but who wants to tell a girl’s father that she probably will never be the same person after tonight? No one wants to break someone’s heart like that, yet somebody’s gotta do it.

Standing up from her previous seat beside Dean, Officer Mills rests a friendly hand on Bobby’s shoulder. “One minute, Mr. Singer. Let me go ask the nurse.”

Once Officer Mills disappears, Ellen pulls away from Dean and goes to wait beside her husband. Cas doesn’t waste time switching places with her to stand next to Dean, brushing their arms together in a way that was clearly intentional – a vital piece of emotional support.

A minute later, a nurse appears and smiles wearily at the group. “She’s awake and stable. We did a quick check-up and a rape kit right away. She’s asking for Dean at the moment, if you would like to go speak to her alone for a minute.”

Taking even one step away from Cas and towards the general direction of Anna feels like the end all over again, but he nods to the Singers and goes to help his friend like he knows he is supposed to.

*****

Waiting for Dean to come back through those stupid ER doors feels like an eternity, but Castiel is fully aware that Anna probably needs Dean more than he does right now.

Everything has been in slow motion since Ellen got the call from the hospital earlier. Ellen was panicking the entire car ride here, she was absolutely hysterical – Castiel had never seen her lose herself like that before. He always saw Ellen as someone who could remain completely calm in even the worst of situations; but it clearly turns out that her one weakness is her children.

And now Dean is gone and the officer is explaining to them what exactly happened to Anna. Castiel takes Ellen’s shaking hand in his as the officer tells them about the “incident” that has brought Anna here, to this place of pain and hurt and sadness. Once the officer finishes, Bobby asks her to give them a moment and she hesitantly nods and walks away.

As she walks away, Dean enters the room again and Castiel finally gets a moment to really look at him for the first time tonight. His eyes are red and watery and the skin around his left eye is slowly fading to a dark blue and purple color as it puffs out into a blossoming black eye. He has a small split lower lip and some blood on his t-shirt. To sum things up, he looks like shit.

Spotting Dean as she walks away, the officer waves Dean over and murmurs something to him, which he responds with a nod and a weak smile. She hands him a small piece of paper and pats his shoulder before he walks back over to them.

Clearing his throat once for the Singers to acknowledge him in their grief, Dean’s eye flicker between Bobby and Ellen before settling on Cas who meets him with a steady gaze. “You can go see her now.” He takes his eyes away from Cas to look at Bobby. “Officer Mills is letting me go home now, so I’m gonna go…”

The Singers stand and Ellen shoots forward to wrap Dean in a firm hug and whispers, “Thank you, Dean.” Bobby slaps his hand on Dean’s shoulder and cocks his chin over to Cas. Lowering his voice so only Dean can hear him, Bobby mutters. “Take ‘im with ya, okay? He don’t need to be seeing this.”

Having been released from Ellen’s arms, Dean nods at Bobby and takes a step over to Cas, “You comin’ with me?”

Castiel answers. “Yeah, I will come with you.”

After Castiel says goodbye to Ellen and Bobby, the two boys head out to Dean’s car. The second the doors shut behind them, Dean starts the car without a word a begins driving towards the water – away from home – and that’s when panic weasels its way into Castiel’s brain. They drive in silence all the way to their spot by the bay, and once Dean parks the car and cuts the engine, Castiel faces the cold indifference of complete stillness. 

Cautiously, he shifts across the seat and gently turns Dean’s head to kiss him tenderly on the lips, but Dean remains still and unresponsive beside him.

“We can’t keep doing this.” Dean whispers harshly, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“W-what?” Castiel sputters. The statement hits Castiel like a ton of bricks.

Dean sighs deeply through his nose and focuses his attention on the dark blue outline of the ocean before them. He keeps his voice level and replies, “We can’t stay together anymore. It’s over, Castiel.”

The use of his full first name takes Castiel aback for a moment as he tries to rack his brain for a reason – why is Dean doing this, why is he leaving him, why is this happening tonight of all nights? This can’t be real, this has to be a nightmare – the worst one yet.

“Why?” With a surge of courage, Castiel takes Dean’s clammy hands in his as he raises his voice in impending anger. “You can’t do this – not now, not after everything we’ve been through. I refuse to let you do this.”

“It’s for the best.”

“No – give me a reason, Dean.”

Dean hesitates and mutters. “I—I don’t…I can’t tell you.”

Gritting his teeth in anger, Castiel huffs. “I won’t let you do this unless you give me a good fucking reason, Dean Winchester.”

It’s supposed to sound threatening, but his threat soon tails off into a small plea that leaves him wishing that he could withstand this moment in time without any future scars.

Snapping his head around and staring at him with cold eyes, Dean whispers. “I don’t love you anymore…”

Sliding closer to Dean and grabbing a fistful of his shirt, Castiel forces Dean to look him in the eye and breathes deeply through his nose. “You’re a fucking liar, Dean.”

With a stony face and dead eyes, Dean actually meets Castiel’s gaze. After a few seconds of silence, Dean finally replies very slowly as if Castiel might miss it. “I never loved you. It was all a lie – I was…. I was just using you.” The last little bit comes out a bit strained but the words still settle over Castiel and paralyze him. Once he rips his eyes away from Dean, he sits back and listens closely to the sound of summer rain beginning to fall on the roof of the Impala. Then, faintly, Castiel hears the roar of an engine and the crushing sound of tires of gravel.

Dean notices the sounds too and straightens up a bit, glaring into Castiel’s eyes and repeating himself. “I never loved you. Not for a second.”

“No…Dean – I don’t believe you…I don’t—“

Castiel jumps at the sound of a car door slamming, the sound of Sam’s voice cutting through the air in a pained shout, screaming, “Dad! No, please!”

Shrugging and wiping away a stray tear, Dean answers firmly, “You don’t have to believe me; it still doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Don’t do this to me.” He can’t contain the sob as it escapes his chest in a violent heave. Castiel grows anxious as the sound of heavy footfall gets nearer. He grabs at Dean’s face desperately and searches Dean’s face for the boy he hopes still exists. “You made me feel better – you saved me, Dean, and now you can’t just break me all over again and leave me for dead.”

The heavy crunch of boot on gravel is right behind them now.

“Maybe I always wanted to break you.”

And then Dean’s door swings open and John drags his son out of the car and tosses him on the gravel road. Castiel freezes where he sits and screams, “Dean!” It sounds like thunder as John bangs on the roof of his car with his fist and roars at Castiel, “Get out of the fucking car you goddamn faggot!”

Ungracefully, like he’s forgotten the use of his arms and legs, Castiel scrambles out of the car and into the rain. John Winchester stomps over to him and snags the collar of his jacket in his fist, bringing their faces close together and growling, “If I ever catch you trying to turn my son into one of you again, I swear I’ll kill you.” John smiles at the terrified and utterly wrecked expression on Castiel’s faces before huffing with amusement, “Hell, I’d kill ya’ now if I wasn’t sure Bobby was gonna beat the goddamn queer out of you when you get home.” With another cruel grin, he shoves Castiel onto the ground and spits towards him, yelling. “Now get the fuck outta here and don’t you ever go near either of my boys ever again, you hear?”

For a moment, he remains a stunned and broken heap of fallen grace lying in the mud as he looks on to see Mary and Sam watching solemnly from the other car as John lifts his leg to kick Dean in the ribs. The sounds of John’s yelling and the animated rush of rain pouring down blends together in a constant stream of white noise that rings in Castiel’s ears.

He doesn’t move. Hell, he tries his best not to breathe until John has thrown Dean into the passenger side of the Impala with a few fresh bruises and swollen, split lip. Through the window of the car and veil of heavy rain, Castiel meets Dean’s eyes and feels a rush of complete uselessness. In anger and desperation, he picks himself up and rushes at the Impala as John starts the car and begins driving away. Castiel runs alongside the car, pounding his fist on Dean’s window and shouting at him, “You fucking ruined me, Dean Winchester! You took everything and now I have nothing! I fucking hate you – I hate you so much, I do. I hate you. I hate you…” Eventually, Castiel can no longer keep the emotional turmoil within him and he collapses on the muddy road as he hopelessly watches the Impala disappear from sight.

He doesn’t remember how he got back, but he knows that it is far past his curfew. Castiel bolts inside the house, tears streaming down his face. He goes to the kitchen in search of a water bottle; instead he bumps into Ellen as he rounds the corner.

“Where in the world have you been? You had us worried sick… Oh my god, what happened?” She asks, cupping Castiel’s face in her hands. “I’ll kill ‘em. I will.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Castiel smiles bleakly, and backs out of the room and away from her touch. Shouting after him, Ellen stands at the bottom of the stairs as he takes them two at a time. “Castiel, what happened?”

He ignores her, the tears still streaming down his cheeks. He reaches the third floor and slams his door behind him, turning his back against it and sliding down to the floor in a sobbing heap.

It shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. How childish of him to believe that Dean cared. Nobody cares about him; he doesn’t even care. There’s an ache that’s started in his chest and made it’s way through his entire body. The pain is going to kill him one day, or at least it will drive him to do the killing.

Scurrying across the floor, he searches beneath his bed for the shoebox he keeps there, just for emergencies. Flipping the lid, he takes out his pocket knife and laughs coldly in the empty room.

He strips down to his underwear and goes to stand before the mirror. The mirror reflects a broken image on smooth perfect glass. “For Hope,” he whispers and slices his left thigh with a wince of pain. “For Alistair,” he grimaces and makes the next incision on the other thigh. He brings the knife to his chest—at the center of his breastbone—and makes a shallow cut all the way down to the end of his ribcage. Bringing his fingers to the fresh cut he winces and says, “For Dean.”

“For me…” Looking up at the reflection again, he makes an X in his flesh above his heart. “When it becomes too much to bear.”


	22. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, I'M SO SORRY TO EVERYONE FOR MAKING YOU ALL WAIT SO LONG. My mental health this last year declined considerably and I was in no condition to continue writing this fic, but now that I'm getting better I will try to update this. Honestly, who knows what I'm going to do. I love you all so much for sticking with me and continuing to ask for updates even though I never respond. It makes me so incredibly happy to know that people care about my work and would like to see it finished. 
> 
> \- J
> 
> P.S. This chapter probably has some grammar/spelling issues.

It’s been eight years since Castiel lived in Pacifica, always knowing that he’d have to move back one day, he just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. It’s not like he lives in complete denial of the fact that, no matter how much he avoids it, he’d have to return to the West Coast at some point. After he left home and went searching for bigger (and hopefully better) things, he decided that it was best to bury his life in Pacifica along with all of the other pieces of his life he prefers not to remember. Being here, in this moment, just goes to show how the world has a funny way of always bringing you back to the things you want to forget the most.

Eight years is a long time – hell, it’s almost a decade. As soon as he could, Castiel ran from Pacifica and he hasn’t stopped running since. For some disillusioned reason, he thought he escaped the memories of the town, the whispers and secrets, the ghosts around ever corner, but when Ellen got sick he couldn’t avoid home anymore.

_The snow falls carelessly outside, absolutely unaware of each flake’s perfection as it coats the cold cemented earth outside Castiel’s window. You know, what people say is true. It really is a concrete jungle out there. Being inside is much safer, away from the chaos and predators that lurk in the dark streets on cold nights like these. His newly adopted bulldog, Lady Lazarus, snores on her bed beneath the window with her small feet lifted in the air._

_Castiel turns his distant attention back to his notebook and papers lazily splayed out across his lap and the couch. The poem he’s piecing together isn’t really going as planned, especially after he accidentally spilled coffee on himself and ruined his train of thought. He’s always so damn clumsy._

_His phone scares him on the first ring, making him jump in his seat. Castiel fumbles with his notes and coffee to reach over and pick it up. He doesn’t even bother checking the Caller ID before answering._

_“Hello?”_

_There’s a pause and some muffled talking in the background before Jo’s voice answers him. “Cas? Hey bud, what are you up to?”_

_Castiel twirls his pencil between his fingers. “Nothing, really. I’m just working.” Shifting on the couch, Castiel reaches for the nearest blanket and drapes it over his frozen toes. Outside a car alarm goes off and echoes through the snowy streets._

_“Cas, you know how mom hasn’t been feeling that great?”_

_He nods, balancing his notepad on his knee. “Yeah, did they find out what it was?”_

_“They ran some tests and things…” Jo takes a deep breath, but her voice cracks regardless of her effort to control herself. “They found another tumor in her brain.”_

_The car alarm stops going off but the sound continues to ring in his ears._

_“How bad is it?”_

_There’s some shuffling and static, but Sam’s voice replaces Jo’s with a feigned confidence that Castiel can hear even over the phone. “They’re giving her a year…maybe a year and a half.”_

_“Sam?” He feels like his entire world has been pulled out from under him. Everything he’s done to get here now feels completely useless – this life of his own is nothing but an attempt to replace a life he never had. “Tell Jo I’m coming home.”_

Castiel tried his best to continue living his life in New York after they found the first tumor a year earlier. It’s been nothing but last minute flights to San Francisco and panic attacks every time he gets an unexpected call from Jo. For most of the fight, he hasn’t been here because he only came just when things didn’t look too good but once Ellen started doing well again, he’d pull a disappearing act on account of something at work. The first few months of treatment were brutal and everyone expected the cancer to have gone into remission. Ellen had fought so hard and nobody wanted to face the harsh reality that even though Ellen is strong, she might not be _that_ strong.

Castiel is not a fan of expectations. The chemotherapy didn’t work, Ellen’s cancer had spread beyond repair, and she was given a year and a half to live if she decided to stop treatment.

Cancer is a real bitch.

Turning the corner down his old street, the historic Victorian continues to tower over its neighboring homes with an elegant shadow. Castiel looks out at the enormous house, his eyes fixed on the third floor bay window where he had spent hours imagining what it would be like to grow wings and fly away. He carefully pulls the car into the driveway and puts it in park before cutting the engine. Lady Lazarus stirs in the passenger seat, where she’s been sleeping for most of the road trip, and clambers across the bench to slobber all over Castiel’s t-shirt. He lovingly scratches behind her floppy ears and allows her to lick his chin.

He glances in the rearview mirror and catches a glimpse of the house across the street. Once a heavenly white color, someone has now painted the antique colonial a happy yellow with bright flowers lining the walkway that leads up to the door. There aren’t any stray footballs or cleats left lazily on the porch. The trellis leading up to Dean’s old bedroom has been removed, and in its place, ivy now grows up that side of the house. Most importantly, though, is the fact that there isn’t a massive black car parked in the driveway.

It’s been years since Castiel had allowed himself to think about Dean Winchester. Several years, actually. He learned to avoid things that reminded him of Dean, teaching himself to shut down at the most opportune of moments. For the last ten years, Castiel has attempted to erase all memories of Dean Winchester, and for the most part, he had succeeded.

For God knows what reason, today just happened to be the day that Castiel could no longer deny the existence of a certain asshole who managed to emotionally stunt him for the rest of his miserable life. It was going to happen at some point in time – Castiel couldn’t continue living so easily for much longer until something Dean-related would ruin him all over again.

The sound of the screen door creaking open catches his attention and he smiles at the sight of Jo bounding out of the Victorian and jumping off of the porch to see him. Giddily, she presses her face to the driver’s side window, grinning widely at him with her nose turned up against the glass. Pushing open the door, Castiel can’t help but laugh.

“Welcome home!” She steps back to get a good look at him. “Look at you, city boy!”

“Did you get your nose done?” Castiel pushes her nose up again with his extended index finger, nodding with feigned approval. “Oh yeah, it looks really good.”

Batting his hand away, Jo playfully shoves his shoulder but he pulls her in for a tight hug instead. Tucking her head under his chin, Castiel kisses the top of his sister’s head and takes a moment to just breathe.

“I’m glad you’re home. I’ve missed you,” she mumbles into his chest. He can feel the dampness on his chest where her tears come into contact with his ratty shirt. The guilt hits him like a harsh kick to the stomach. He could have come home so much sooner and saved them all of this pain, but here he is, showing up to finish the last few miles of a race that’s almost over. She releases another shaky testament. “We’ve all missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Blinking at the stinging in his eyes, Castiel blames his allergies. Behind them, Lady Laz barks and hops out of the car, wiggling and bumping against their legs. Jo, wiping the tears from her eyes, pulls away to kneel down and allow the dog to drool all over her with a smile on her face. Castiel looks down at her and lifts his arms above his head to stretch. “That was such a long fucking drive.”

“From New York all the way to California all by yourself. I think you deserve a drink!” Jo scratches Lady behind the ears one last time and stands, her green eyes glancing at the car packed full of Castiel’s belongings. She hooks her arm around his and leads him to the front door. “Unpacking can wait for now.”

Castiel groans, “Jo – but then I have to do it later. Let’s just do it now.”

“No, we can wait until Sam gets back and he’ll help us.”

Castiel opens the door for his sister and she gives him a curtsy in return. “Such a gentleman!”

“Oh my god,” he laughs, calling out to Lady Laz who has been sniffing the same fucking bush for about five minutes now. “Lady! C’mon girl, let’s go inside!”

Lady lifts her head and snorts loudly, her tongue hanging out of her mouth loosely. Castiel swears she is the ugliest cute dog he has ever seen. “Lazarus, let’s go!”

For a moment, she just stares at him dumbly and Castiel starts to wonder if she might charge him like she does when she’s hyper, but then she sneezes. Lady’s wrinkled face widens into a pink smile, trotting up the stairs to follow him inside.

“You’re such a weird dog…” Castiel mumbles, closing the screen door behind him. A wave of fondness washes over him as soon as he sets his eyes on the foyer. The walls of it are lined with photos of all of the kids that have lived in the Singer’s house as well as other family photos. At the bottom of the staircase Castiel sees his high-school graduation picture. It’s amazing how much changes in seven years.

“Here you go.” Jo grins at him, passing him a glass of wine and wrapping her arms around him in a loving hug. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Castiel knows fully well how much Jo has missed him – how much everyone has missed him – and he can’t help but feel a little guilty about leaving the way he did. “I know. I’ve missed you too.”

Pulling away from him, Jo pulls her long blonde hair into a ponytail and glances at the clock hanging above the door. “Sam will be here in about fifteen minutes, do you wanna go sit down for a bit?”

“No, I think I want to go look at my room.”

For a second Jo looks at him in a way that he doesn’t quite know how to describe, but she smiles softly and nods. “Yeah, let’s go.”

 His teenage bedroom has changed quite a bit since the last time he lived here. Crossing the creaky floors, Castiel gazes out of the bay window only to find the Winchester’s colonial still perched prettily across the street. “I used to sit here and write until my hand started to cramp up.”

He also used to sit there for hours hoping that that house would burn down. It never did.

“How’s life in the big city as a hot-shot writer?”

Castiel snorts and rolls his eyes at Jo’s smug grin. “I’m not evenly remotely close to being a hot-shot.”

“Cas, stop being so damn modest. You’ve been on the New York Time’s Bestseller list twice. You have book signings, tours, and T.V. interviews all the time!”

“Oh, c’mon Jo, it’s not that often…” The heat instantly spreads to his cheeks in embarrassment, Castiel looks away from her and seats himself at the bay window.

“Cas, you were on Oprah Winfrey’s show two fucking weeks ago! Your book made it onto her goddamn book list – shitty writers don’t make it onto that list, Cas.” Jo walks over to him, following his gaze to the Winchester’s house, she sighs inwardly at his unresponsiveness and sits down beside him. Castiel is taken aback at how she answers his silent question so simply, as if it means nothing at all. “They don’t live there anymore. Mary moved into a smaller place two blocks over after she divorced John.”

“She divorced him?”

“Things just got out of hand after Sam went to Stanford. John started drinking more once and there really wasn’t anyone there for Mary anymore.” She tilts her head curiously, gazing at the house quietly for a brief moment. “He started beating her so bad that she couldn’t hide it anymore. She filed for divorce but didn’t press any charges. They split up about five years ago.”

“I had no idea… I’m glad she finally got out.” Castiel, eager to change subjects, takes one last look at the colonial. “Speaking of the Winchesters, how’s your fiancé?”

He doesn’t miss the blush that floods Jo’s cheeks at the mention of Sam. “He’s so good, Cas, – like really good. I would’ve never thought that we would end up together, he was always the dorky kid neighbor with a crush on me.”

“I always knew he did, even when he was dating Jess.”

Jo nods, solemnly. “She was good for him, I think. He misses her sometimes, I can always tell. I always forget that he was in the car with her, but he gets nightmares every once in a while.”

“How long has it been?”

“Four years ago,” Jo rests her head on Castiel’s shoulder and a faint smile appears on her bright golden face. “I love him so much, Cas. I can’t even imagine what I would do without him?”

Castiel tries to shake off the image of Dean popping into his head, he doesn’t have the time or energy to deal with any of those emotions right now.

 “Where are mom and dad?”

“Mom’s actually sleeping right now because we’re having people over for a dinner thing tonight since you’re home. Dad’s grocery shopping for tonight.” Clumsily standing up, Jo extends her hand to him. “I just heard Sam pull up, let’s go unload your shit!”

Castiel isn’t prepared for the massive hug that Sam gives him as soon as they make it outside. Even though he’s always kept in contact with Sam, Castiel always forgets that Sam has nearly doubled in size and then some since high school.

“Cas – man, it is so nice to have you back. It’s been too long.” Clapping his huge hand on Castiel’s shoulder, Sam’s warm smile lifts some of the weight on Castiel’s chest. “Let’s get this stuff in the house so we can start getting ready to eat.”

“I keep forgetting that you actually look like a man now and not that kid that I used to live across the street from.” Castiel laughs along with Sam and Jo, smiling. “How have you been? I think the last time I saw you was what? Thanksgiving?” His car unlocks with a beep, prompting Lady to bark at them from behind the screened door. Castiel scolds her from the lawn, pointing a wicked finger in her direction. “Laz, knock it off!”

Laz stays still for a moment and Castiel turns back to Sam for a reply but just as he turns his head the stupid dog barks again, even letting out a squeal of impatience.

“I can’t believe her sometimes.” He huffs in frustration, stomping over to let her out onto the lawn. As soon as the screen door opens, she bolts out and rolls around in a floppy heap on the green grass.

Sam smiles at the dog and then back at Cas. “I keep begging Jo to let us get one, but she won’t budge on the subject. I’ve always wanted a golden retriever.”

“That’s not true!” Shouting from within the car, Jo pulls her head out of the trunk and begins to carry some boxes inside. “We don’t have the space for a dog right now but we can get one once we get a bigger place. Do you honestly think that we could take care of dog, my mom, and ourselves? C’mon Sam, seriously.”

The bitter anger in her voice shocks Castiel, he’s never heard Jo talk to Sam that way before. He looks back at Sam who smiles a weak apology as Jo walks away. Sam watches her disappear inside the house with a sigh.

Castiel can’t keep himself from asking. “Are you guys okay?”

“Yes, we’re totally fine. She’s just stressed out about the wedding and Ellen so she’s been taking it out on me. Don’t worry about us, it’ll all blow over.” He shrugs half-heartedly at the helplessness of his situation. “Life is complicated right now but I’m happy, you know?”

Castiel smiles and nods but he still feels empty inside.

“I’m happy for you,” he answers, looking over at the trailer with all of his shit in it. Feeling as if the world completely fucking him over, Castiel turns back to Sam and lets out an impulsive and slightly anxious laugh. “I can’t believe I’m back here.”

Sam claps a hand on his back. “We’re all happy to have you here.” Castiel can’t help but look at his old friend, only to find a familiar genuine smile.

 

Castiel has never seen so much food in one place in his entire life.

“Cas, pass the mashed potatoes please.” Ellen whispers to him at the table, trying not to interrupt Sam and Jo’s incredibly interesting conversation about wedding bouquets.

Reaching across Bobby, Cas plucks the bowl of mashed potatoes and places it before his mom who pats his arm affectionately in response. Looking away from Ellen, Castiel makes eye contact with Mary Winchester and suddenly feels obligated to say something but nothing comes to mind.

“How’s your newest book coming along?” Castiel kind-of hates her for being so nice. Couldn’t she hate him as much as John did? That would make everything easier, he would have an actual reason to hate her aside from the fact that she gave birth to the only man he’s ever loved. Her smile is pearly white and stunning just like Dean’s. “I’ve heard that it’s going to be your best one yet.”

“Funny story,” Castiel is suddenly very aware that everyone is now listening to him. “I actually haven’t started writing it yet.”

At the end of the table Jo’s jaw drops in surprise. “What did you just say?”

“I just…I haven’t’ started writing my next book yet.”

She shakes her head despondently. “No – Cas you sent me a draft of it once like two months ago!”

“I scrapped that, it didn’t feel right.” He absent-mindedly uses his fork to push his carrots around on the plate, carefully feigning interest in the carrots to avoid eye contact with Jo. “My last book that was just published is being made into a movie so I’ve decided to write a memoir.”

“Holy shit.” Ellen’s words force a smile onto his face. “Cas – baby, you’re famous.”

He glances at his mom and fails at covering up his awkward giggles, “Not completely, the writers always get the least amount of credit but that’s showbiz, am I right?” Castiel’s eyes land on his empty wine glass and he stands, pointing to the kitchen and clearing his throat in announcement. “I’m gonna go grab a new bottle of wine, does anyone need anything from the kitchen?”

Sweeping his eyes across the table, nobody asks for anything so he turns on his heels, walking swiftly into the kitchen. Picking up a red wine that Sam brought to dinner off the table, Castiel goes in search of something to open the bottle with. After opening all seven drawers, he finally finds one and manages to pull the cork out, leaning against the counter and pouring himself a glass. He brings the glass to his lips and is about to down the whole thing when someone tries to open the backdoor. Castiel is a little surprised it’s locked in the first place, no one ever locks it, mostly because the only people that even use that door are family and friends.

Swiftly bringing the glass to his lips again, he downs the glass of wine and walks over to open the door, feeling the liquid slide down into his gut. Castiel’s hand is on the knob, the door flies open and nearly breaks Castiel’s nose but he jumps out of the way just in time, only to look up to see him standing there like a perfect, beautiful, breathing ghost from his past.

It’s him, the boy who Castiel loved and lost and vowed to never see again, but now he’s not a boy anymore. He is a man now with tiny crow’s-feet when he smiles and stubble on his jaw. This is not a wispy memory that comes to taunt Castiel when he sleeps, this Dean that stands before him is very, very real and as equally as awestruck by the sight of Castiel.

“No one told me…” His voice is much deeper than Castiel remembers it being. It still sounds like Dean, though, just huskier. Dean takes a step forward, his mouth hanging open in a quiet amazement. “You’re home?"


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the worst at updating, I know and I apologize. Honestly, I can't promise anything but I really am trying to finish this fic. I've been working on it for nearly three years and, one day, I will finish it. Stick with me friends. 
> 
> ALSO, there will be errors since I'm not longer using a beta to check my work, so please bear with me.
> 
> \- Jos

_“How much longer do you think Andy will be safe in this house, Castiel?”_

_Sulking slightly more than usual, Castiel tosses his backpack to a sullen, isolated corner of his poorly furnished room, and glances over his shoulder at Meg with a vague feeling that she's up to something. In her usual blasé-sort-of-way, she casually leans her back against his closed door. He exhaustively throws his hands up in defeat. “I haven’t got a clue, okay?”_

_“It’s been a month since he’s been here and Alistair hasn’t made his move yet because he’s know what we’re doing Castiel – he’s not stupid. If he were stupid, he definitely wouldn’t still be getting away with this shit.” Meg always sounds as if she’s spitting fire, but Castiel can’t blame her. “He’s going to do something any day now…”_

_Bitterly, Castiel asks, “Well what do you suppose we do to stop him?”_

_Meg lowers her voice and steps closer to her foster brother. “We need something to protect ourselves.”_

_“Oh yeah, like what?”_

_Glancing over her shoulder cautiously, Meg slides her bag off her shoulders, unzips it and carefully produces a handgun from the depths of her canvas backpack. She gazes at Castiel and smiles. “Even perverts are scared of guns, right?”_

_\---_

“You’re home?” Dean blinks rapidly and tries his best to see clearly, but the room bloats out and swirls as if he is looking out from the inside of a goldfish bowl – a morphed form of reality where the gorgeous human being standing in Bobby’s living room could possibly be Castiel Singer. Sure, he’s got the face of someone Dean once knew and a voice that echoes in Dean’s dreams, but after all these years of waiting, he can’t let himself believe that it’s really Cas. Without a doubt it really is him; Dean’s just a fucking idiot who can’t seem to get the gears in his brain to start working again. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re finally home?”

“No one told me that you live in Pacifica.” Swaying slightly either from shock or liquor, Castiel balances himself against the nearest wall and rests his head, closing his eyes for a moment. He mutters under his breath, cursing to himself in a calm panic, the harsh sound of it conquering the silence of the room. Taking a step away from the door and turning towards the bottle of wine waiting patiently on the counter, he takes a long pull straight from the bottle without any hesitation, gulping down its contents eagerly. Dean follows him in, shutting the door and watching as a ghost pours himself a glass of wine. The ghost speaks and Dean can’t believe how clear it sounds. “You look different.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t see someone for eight years.” Dean snorts, shrugging his shoulders and slowly walking towards the counter as if any sudden movements might spook Castiel’s ghost. “I can’t believe you’re here. Fuck, Cas where’d you go?”

Castiel takes a swig of wine. “I went everywhere. I saw everything. I did anything I wanted and I loved every second of it. Now, I’m back and no one told me you were here.”

“Cas, I’m sorry.” Dean’s been dying to say those words out loud for nearly a decade – they push at the back of his skull, always screaming to get out but there was never anyone important enough around to hear it. “This might be too little, too late, but Cas you’ve got no idea how fucking sorry I am.”

He brings a freshly poured glass of wine to his lips and sips, the faintest glow of vacancy in his eyes as he turns his head to Dean. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Cas’ eyes are hard and dark as they stare into Dean’s, who can’t shake the feeling that he might never be able to make up for this, maybe he finally did fuck up beyond repair. He clenches his jaw and decides it’s worth putting up a fight because this is Cas. “When do you wanna talk about it? ‘Cause I want to talk about it, Cas. I want to talk about why I said the things that I said and why I left the way I did and what happened to you once I was a gone – so let’s talk.”

Castiel raises him eyebrows and releases an amused huff of laughter, his silver-blue eyes scanning the darkly lit kitchen as if the walls had stories written on them. “You said you would never leave and you did. You told me for months that you loved me and then you took it all back. You made me believe that it was all a game.”

“I did it to keep you safe.”

“From who? From your dad?” Castiel snaps back at him, his eyes wild and angry like icy daggers. He howls a bitter laugh and shakes his head with dark amusement. “You were the one who needed to be saved from him, not me.”

“Cas, I was a stupid fucking kid who was handling too much all at once and I did what I thought was going to get me out of the mess that I was in. It was selfish and fucked up but I did it anyways and I’m sorry.” Dean waits anxiously for a response, scanning Cas’ stoic face and finding it blatantly empty. Huffing through his nose in frustration, running his hand over his face, and walking even close to his old friend, Dean risks losing his hand and places it over Castiel’s on the counter. “I don’t go a single day without thinking about all the stupid shit I’ve done but Jesus Christ, Cas, hurting you is what landed me my ticket to Hell.”

For a moment, Dean sees Castiel’s eyes soften, his face easing into a faint grin. “I’d say being gay is what got you that ticket but fucking with me drove the nail into the coffin.”

Being this close to Cas makes Dean’s stomach grow fuzzy and warm, like he’s just downed a few shots of whiskey and it’s finally starting to kick in. He inhales deeply through his nose and sinks into the smell of cinnamon and old books that radiates off of Cas.

“I’ve read all of your books.”

Castiel leans over the counter, snatching up an empty wine glass, and pours Dean a drink. The wine is bitter and red, biting at the tip of Dean’s tongue. Relaxing beside him, Castiel angles his body towards Dean and looks up at him, “I’ve only written three, so that’s not much of an accomplishment.”

Smiling down at him, Dean hums, “Would you sign my copy of _Heavenly Warfare_?”

“It’ll cost you.” Castiel jokes back at him, feeling the mood lift with every drunken word spilled form his mouth as he stares into the green depths of Dean’s eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Right back at you.”

Jo’s lithe figure appears in the doorway, clearing her throat as she enters the room. “Dean, I didn’t know you’d be stopping by tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just crashing the party for a second.” He waves his hand in apology, “I actually gotta head back and unpack, shower, all that jazz. I just came to drop off Bobby’s truck.”

Diving his hand into the pocket of his jeans, Dean fishes out a set of keys and drops them onto the counter, eyeing Jo suspiciously as she glances between the two men. “Alright, I’ll tell ‘em you stopped by then.”

Backing up one step at a time, Dean heads for the door. “Don’t worry about it. I gotta come by the house tomorrow at some point anyways.” He scratches the back of his neck nervously, realizing that he most definitely will run into Cas again, before using his free hand to swing the door open. With a quick wave, he mumbles. “It was nice seeing you, Cas. Have a good night you guys.”

 ___

 

Castiel wakes up with one of the worst fucking hangovers he’s ever had. Painfully sitting up in bed, there’s a moment where he questions his surroundings, an old room of forgotten and left-behind things, but soon remembers how he ended up here. All of it rushes back to him at once – everything from the night before – seeing Dean, yelling at Jo after Dean left, crying, drinking (another) bottle of wine with Jo, using Jo’s phone to leave an embarrassing voicemail on Dean’s cell, crying (again), and passing out. Surprisingly, not once during all of that excitement did Castiel throw up, which means he has at least one thing going for him. It’s a good thing that he can hold his liquor.

Lady Lazarus rolls onto her back at the end of Castiel’s bed and snorts obnoxiously, flopping from side to side with her tongue hanging out. She flips over and grins in her obliviously dopey way at Castiel before meandering up the bed to rest against his thigh.

“What the hell did I do last night?”

Lady stares at him dumbly, pawing at him playfully and panting, she doesn’t have a single care in the world.

“Alright, let’s get dressed and take a walk around the block.” As soon as the word “walk” leaves his mouth, Lady jumps from the bed and sprints circles around the room in excitement. To encourage her, Castiel repeats himself, “C’mon Laz! Let’s go for a walk!”

He throws on a pair of gym shorts and an old NYU sweatshirt, feeling at home in its purple frame, before gracefully running down the stairs and out the door with Lady at his heels. Being a slow, rather chubby dog, Laz likes to take her time on these walks and doesn’t really rush herself as she scopes out her new surroundings. Sometimes, if given the opportunity, she takes advantage of the fact that her leash extends rather far and enjoys walking ahead of Castiel. They’ve walked two blocks and have reached a picturesque cottage occupying a large corner lot. Laz slows her pace, stopping to sniff at the trimmed bushes and freshly cut grass, she takes her sweet time. Castiel waits patiently for her to finally do her business before picking up the mess with a plastic baggie just as someone steps out the front door of the cottage. Wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of blue jeans, Dean Winchester locks the door behind him.

Castiel stops dead in his tracks – his alcohol-soaked brain pounding with the rhythm of his heartbeat – why does this keep happening?

“Cute dog.” Dean smiles, smug and handsome as he strolls across the stone pathway to meet Castiel at the sidewalk. A gleam in his eye, Dean pauses in front of him, carefully looking over his changed features. “You got trashed last night.”

Breathing through his nose, Castiel rubs his left temple with his free hand, feeling an oncoming migraine setting in. “You got my message?”

Dean bends down and whistles for Laz to come to him, she happily trots over. “You bet I did.”

Ashamed and slightly concerned, Castiel mutters. “I don’t remember what I said…”

“It was mostly gibberish,” Dean sighs in response, scratching Laz behind the ears one last time before standing back up. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Something about the way Dean’s gaze lingers tells Castiel that he might have something to worry about – but it’s not like he can go back in time and stop himself from leaving that voicemail.

“Alright.” He replies abruptly, having gotten lost in his train of thought for a moment. Averting his attention to Lady, he whistles for her and she bounds across Dean’s manicured lawn towards him. “Well, um, we should keep walking, otherwise she’ll lay down and refuse to get back up again. I’m sure we’ll see—“

“Why don’t you come grab a cup of coffee with me?” Shuffling his feet nervously, Dean tries his best not to sound hopeful but Castiel hears it in his voice. “I was just about to walk over to that little place on Third Street; it’s right around the corner for here.” 

He really should just politely decline and walk away. It could be that easy – saying no, walking away, going home to that great big house, and crawling back into bed – to forget Dean if he really wanted to.

The problem is he doesn’t really want to.

“Sure.”

Releasing a heavy sigh of relief, Dean beams at him. “Oh okay, cool! For a second there I thought you were going to tell me to go fuck myself.”

With a shrug, Castiel laughs. “It’s never too late.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Extending his arm forward, Dean clears his throat. “Shall we m’lady?”

“C’mon you idiot.” Lady gets the cue to lead the way and trots ahead of them down the tree-lined sidewalk. The burning sensation in his cheeks reverts Castiel’s memory back to the thousands of times Dean has made him blush. “Why are you still here?”

Immediately, Dean is on the defense. “Hey – I left for a bit, I just decided to come back.  After I finished school, I didn’t want to settle back East, and I always loved it here, so I came home.”

As they walk side by side, shuffling across the leaves and twigs littered on the sidewalk, their feet hitting the pavement in correct time, Castiel is acutely aware of their shoulders occasionally brushing. Why does he have to pinpoint every exact moment in time with Dean? All his old habits are suddenly coming back without warning, and more importantly, without Castiel’s approval.

“I don’t blame you for coming back. I thought about it, for a second, but it was a short-lived dream.” Turning the corner, Castiel sees the coffee shop in the near distance.  “I’m glad you’re happy here though. You definitely belong in California – it’s your birthright.”

“I always pictured you in New York.” Looking up at the trees, Dean dreamily follows a dove with his eyes, a content smile on his face. “Do you miss it?”

“All the time.” Castiel sighs, “It’s just different over there, you know? I think I might get an apartment in San Francisco since I can afford it – that way I can live in a city but also be close to mom. Plus, most of her appointments and things are in the city anyways.”

“Ellen is one hell of a woman. She deserves better than dealing with shitty life things like cancer.”

“Plenty of people deal with shitty circumstances even if they don’t deserve it, Dean. That’s just how life works.” Nearing the storefront, Castiel tugs at Lady’s lease, she reluctantly slows and waits for them to catch up. At the entrance, Castiel stops in his tracks. “Shit, I don’t have any money.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. I got it this time – you can just owe me one.”

Nodding in agreement, Castiel pauses for a moment. “Do they allow dogs in here?”

“Yeah, I bring my dog here all the time.”

“Why didn’t you bring your dog today? Laz loves to play with other dogs!”

“We went hiking for a few days and he’s pretty worn out, so I let him sleep in today.” Holding the door open for him, Dean explains the situation. “His name is Kurt, he’s a black lab and my best friend.”

They walk into the quaint coffee shop, a small establishment that they both used to go to when they were in high school. Off to the side, his favorite table still idly sits away from the bustle of the front counter. Facing out the window onto the street Castiel spent a lot of time reading or writing or thinking at that table; especially after he no longer had anyone to sit there and talk to for hours on end.

Peering up at menu board hanging on the wall, he then turns to Castiel and asks. “Do you know what you want? I’ll just order and you can go grab us a table outside.”

“A medium vanilla latte is fine.”

Tugging lightly on Lady’s leash and calling her name, Castiel escorts her outside into the cold, ocean breeze. They settle themselves at a table away from the entrance because Castiel knows that Laz will try to sniff every single person that walks by and he doesn’t want to take the risk of her slobbering on anyone.

Almost immediately after Castiel sits down, Laz is jumping up into his lap and trying her best to lick his chin. He pushes at her head to get her to stop but feels the wetness of her tongue on his cheek somehow. Just as Castiel gets Lady under control, Dean steps out of the shop and strides over to them, two coffees in his hands.

Placing Castiel’s coffee on their table and sitting in the chair closest to Castiel, Dean takes a swig from his own white paper cup but pulls away with a shout. “ _Fuck_ , I just burnt my tongue. You should wait for yours to cool off.” Looking past him, Dean’s eyes widen with surprise and smiles, waving at someone behind him.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Castiel responds with a laugh, popping the lid off of his own cup to blow on the steaming contents. “I just realized that I don’t actually know what you do for a living – I mean; you already know what I do since you’ve read my work – but what did you finally settle on doing?”

“Well, I didn’t know what I was doing my freshman year of college but then it just hit me one day. Beginning of sophomore year, I switched my major from Exploratory to Education, now I’m a kindergarten teacher and I’m taking classes to get my master’s degree.”

Stunned – that’s the word Castiel is looking for. Not once, in all the time he has spent thinking about Dean, did he expect his dreamy high school boyfriend to become ever dreamier with time. First off, how the hell did Dean get some handsome? His jawline is literally perfect and every time he smiles those stupidly green eyes fucking twinkle. It’s not fair! He’s funny and educated and ambitious – everything Castiel loved about him before, but it’s different this time.

“I always knew you’d figure it out.” Castiel stirs his coffee with his finger. “What will you do after you get your Master’s?”

“If things go as planned, which they never do, I want to become a Principal.”

Picturing it, Castiel nods. “I think you can do it.”

Drinking his coffee painlessly now, Dean moves the conversation away from himself, gazing at Castiel with genuine interest. “What’re you gonna write about now?”

“Okay, don’t laugh at me because it makes me seem like I’m full of myself, but I’m going to write a memoir about my childhood and adolescence.”

Dean falters for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hands wrapped around his cup. “I don’t think that makes you full of yourself, Cas. You have a story to tell – nobody should make you feel ashamed of that.”

“Thanks, Dean.” Castiel blushes, taking two large gulps of his coffee. “I appreciate that.”

Looking at him with a wildly unreadable expression, Dean doesn’t say anything for a moment, allowing a stillness to form in the air between them. It’s not uncomfortable or gloomy, instead, it’s a humming awareness of their continuing bond even after all these years.

“We should head back.” Dean says abruptly and breaks the trance. “I have to make some lesson plans for this week, but I’ll walk you back to your place first.”

On the walk back, passing through the neighborhood beneath the tall elm trees, Castiel lets their shoulders and fingertips brush as they head towards home. Lady Laz slows them down quite a bit, sitting down on the sidewalk in a lazy heap until Castiel finally convinces her to get back on her feet. They talk about all kinds of things -- from their first college frat party to the cost of rent in the city – until they finally reach the grand Victorian on the corner.

“I had fun,” Castiel releases a content sigh and smile that lights up his entire face. They stop short at the door. “We should do this again sometime. It’ll be easy too, since you live right down the street.”

Directly in front of him, about a foot away, Dean shuffles his feet anxiously and extends his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“What?” Castiel asks. “Why?”

“So I can give you my number, you idiot. C’mon hand it over.”

Blushing and pulling his phone out of his pocket, Castiel places it in Dean’s awaiting hand. He takes a step closer to Dean so that he can see the screen as Dean types in his number and sends himself a text saying “Cas.”

Dean looks up to find Castiel precariously close to him. “Here,” he says. He slides the phone into Cas’ hand. “I’ve missed you, more than you know.”

Slightly shocked, Castiel searches Dean’s face for something, anything that might give away a lie or an impending punchline. Instead, he’s surprised to find Dean’s supple lips pressing against his own. His left hand tangles in Castiel’s dark hair as his right holds firm at the small of his back. Castiel melts into the kiss, the familiar chocolate-like taste of Dean’s warm mouth, the overwhelmingly rich smell of Dean encompassing him. The kiss is not forceful or urgent; rather, it’s a moment to relearn everything forgotten in the last decade.

When Dean finally pulls away, his hair mussed and shirt still bunched in Castiel’s fist, who removes himself from the wall of the house he was just pressed against, he seems just as bewildered as Castiel. He mutters, “Listen, I’ll call you, okay?” Dean turns on his heels and hurries down the steps without another word.

Maybe he’s having a stroke or maybe he’s recovering from the shock of kissing Dean for the first time in a long time, whatever the case, Castiel can’t form a proper goodbye except for a quick wave as he steps inside the house. Closing the door, he leans his tall frame against its solid wood structure and gasps, “What the fuck?!”

Off in the kitchen, there’s a clatter of pots and pans and the rush of footsteps as Jo runs into the room shouting, “What’s wrong? Cas?”

He stares at her, exhaling deeply through his nose, and says. “I think I just went on a date with Dean Winchester and I didn’t even fucking realize it.”


End file.
